The  New  Tenant 


E.  PHILLIPS  OPPENHEIM 


THE 

NEW     TENANT 


BY 


E.   PHILLIPS    OPPENHEIM 

AUTHOR   OF 

'THE   YELLOW   HOUSE,"    "TO   WIN   THE   LOVE    HE   SOUGHT, 
"A   DAUGHTER  OF  ASTREA,"    ETC. 


ffi 


DONALD    W.    NEWTON 

156  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1010,  BT 
C.  H.  DO8CHER  ft  CO. 


THE  TBOW  PBKS8,  NEW  YOKE 


Annex     OV 

511 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I.  FALCON'S  NEST     . 

II.  THE  MURDER  NEAR  THE  FALCON'S  NEST  . 

III.  MR.  BERNARD  BROWN 

IV.  AN  EVIL  END  TO  AN  EVIL  LIFE  . 

V.  THE  INNER  ROOM  AT  THE  FALCON'S  NEST 

VI.  A  TERRIBLE  ENEMY 

VII.  HELEN  THURWELL'S   SUSPICIONS 

VIII.  DID  You  KILL  SIR  GEOFFREY  KYNASTON? 

IX.  MR.  BROWN  DINES  AT  THE  COURT  4 

X.  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  RACHEL  KYNASTON     . 

XI.  LEVY  &  SON,  PRIVATE  AGENTS    . 

XII.  A  JEWEL  OF  A  SON 

XIII.  A  STRANGE  MEETING 

XIV.  HELEN  THURWELL  ASKS  A  DIRECT  QUES- 

TION   

XV.     A  LITERARY  CELEBRITY      .... 
XVI.     A  SNUB  FOR  A  BARONET     .... 
XVII.     BERNARD  MADDISON  AND  HELEN  THUR- 
WELL         

XVIII.     A  CHEQUE  FOR  £1,000 

XIX.     AN    UNPLEASANT   DISCOVERY    FOR    BER- 
NARD  BROWN 

XX.     GOD!  THAT  I  MAY  DIE!       .... 

XXI.     SIR  ALLAN  BEAUMERVILLE  HAS  A  CALLER  131 

XXII.     "Goo  FORBID  IT!" 144 

XXIII.  LOVERS 149 

XXIV.  A  WOMAN'S   LOVE 156 

XXV.     MR.  LEVY,  JUNIOR,  GOES  ON  THE  CONTI- 
NENT        163 

XXVI.     HELEN  DECIDES  TO  Go  HOME    .        .        .    169 
XXVII.     MR.  THURWELL  MAKES  SOME   INQUIRIES  173 


9 
16 

22 

25 

35 
40 

47 
55 
59 
65 
70 
80 


94 
99 

106 
in 

119 
123 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PACE 

XXVIII.     SIR   ALLAN    BEAUMERVILLE    VISITS    THE 

COURT 181 

XXIX.     THE  SCENE  CHANGES 188 

XXX.     BENJAMIN   LEVY  RUNS  His   QUARRY   TO 

EARTH 196 

XXXI.     BENJAMIN  LEVY  WRITES  HOME  .        .        .   200 
XXXII.     A  STRANGE  TRIO  OF  PASSENGERS     .        .    208 

XXXIII.  VISITORS  FOR  MR.  BERNARD  MADDISON   .    212 

XXXIV.  ARRESTED 2.7 

XXXV.     COMMITTED    FOR   TRIAL       ....    233 

XXXVI.  MR.   LEVY  PROMISES  TO  DO  His  BEST   .  241 

XXXVII.  BERNARD  A   PRISONER        ....  246 

XXXVIII.  "THERE  Is  MY  HAND.     DARE  You  TAKE 

IT?" 252 

XXXIX.  MR.  BENJAMIN  LEVY  Is  BUSY    .        .       .  257 

XL.  A  STRANGE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY     .        .        .  265 

XLI.     INNOCENT       .  276 

XLII.    AT  LAST 283 


THE    NEW   TENANT 


CHAPTER    I 
FALCON'S  NEST 

THURWELL  COURT,  by  Thurwell-on-the-Sea,  lay 
bathed  in  the  quiet  freshness  of  an  early  morning. 
The  dewdrops  were  still  sparkling  upon  the  terraced 
lawns  like  little  globules  of  flashing  silver,  and  the 
tumult  of  noisy  songsters  from  the  thick  shrubberies 
alone  broke  the  sweet  silence.  The  peacocks  strut- 
ting about  the  grey  stone  balcony  and  perched  upon 
the  worn  balustrade  were  in  deshabille,  not  being 
accustomed  to  display  their  splendors  to  an  empty 
paradise,  and  the  few  fat  blackbirds  who  were  hop- 
ping about  on  the  lawn  did  so  in  a  desultory  man- 
ner, as  though  they  were  only  half  awake  and  had 
turned  out  under  protest.  Stillness  reigned  every- 
where, but  it  was  the  sweet  hush  of  slowly  awaken- 
ing day  rather  than  the  drowsy,  languorous  quiet 
of  exhausted  afternoon.  With  one's  eyes  shut  one 
could  tell  that  the  pulse  of  day  was  only  just  be- 
ginning to  beat.  The  pure  atmosphere  was  buoy- 
ant with  the  vigorous  promise  of  morning,  and 
gently  laden  with  the  mingled  perfumes  of  slowly 
opening  flowers.  There  was  life  in  the  breathless 
air. 


2  THE  NEW  TENANT 

The  sunlight  was  everywhere.  In  the  distance  it 
lay  upon  the  dark  hillside,  played  upon  the  deep 
yellow  gorse  and  purple  heather  of  the  moorland, 
and,  further  away  still,  flashed  upon  a  long  silver 
streak  of  the  German  Ocean.  In  the  old-fashioned 
gardens  of  the  court  it  shone  upon  luscious  peaches 
hanging  on  the  time-mellowed  red-brick  walls;  lit 
up  the  face  and  gleamed  upon  the  hands  of  the 
stable  clock,  and  warmed  the  ancient  heart  of  the 
stooping,  grey-haired  old  gardener's  help  who,  with 
blinking  eyes  and  hands  tucked  in  his  trousers  pock- 
ets, was  smoking  a  matutinal  pipe,  seated  on  the 
wheelbarrow  outside  the  tool  shed. 

Around  the  mansion  itself  it  was  very  busy,  cast- 
ing a  thousand  sunbeams  upon  its  long  line  of  oriel 
windows,  and  many  quaint  shadows  of  its  begabled 
roof  upon  the  lawns  and  bright  flower-beds  below. 
On  one  of  the  terraces  a  breakfast-table  was  laid  for 
two,  and  here  its  splendour  was  absolutely  dazzling. 
It  gleamed  upon  the  sparkling  silver,  and  the  snow- 
white  table-cloth;  shone  with  a  delicate  softness 
upon  the  freshly-gathered  fruit  and  brilliant  flow- 
ers, and  seemed  to  hover  with  a  gentle  burnished 
light  upon  the  ruddy  golden  hair  of  a  girl  who  sat 
there  waiting,  with  her  arm  resting  lightly  upon 
the  stone  balustrade,  and  her  eyes  straying  over  the 
quaint  well-kept  gardens  to  the  open  moorland  and 
dark  patches  of  wooded  country  beyond. 

"Good  morning,  Helen!    First,  as  usual." 

She  turned  round  with  a  somewhat  languid  greet- 
ing. A  tall,  well-made  man,  a  little  past  middle- 
age,  in  gaiters  and  light  tweed  coat,  had  stepped 
out  on  to  the  balcony  from  one  of  the  open  win- 
dows. In  his  right  hand  he  was  swinging  carelessly 
backwards  and  forwards  by  a  long  strap  a  well- 
worn  letter-bag. 


THE  NEW  TENANT  3 

"Is  breakfast  ready?"  he  inquired. 

"  Waiting  for  you,  father,"  she  answered,  touch- 
ing a  small  handbell  by  her  side.  "  Try  one  of 
those  peaches.  Burdett  says  they  are  the  finest  he 
ever  raised." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  for  one,  and  sinking 
into  a  low  basket  chair,  commenced  lazily  to  peel 
it,  with  his  eyes  wandering  over  the  sunny  land- 
scape. A  footman  brought  out  the  tea  equipage 
and  some  silver-covered  dishes,  and,  after  silently 
arranging  them  upon  the  table,  withdrew. 

"  What  an  exquisite  morning !  "  Mr.  Thurwell 
remarked,  looking  up  at  the  blue  cloudless  sky,  and 
pulling  his  cap  a  little  closer  over  his  eyes  to  pro- 
tect them  from  the  sun.  "  We  might  be  in  Italy 
again." 

"  Indeed  we  might,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  imagine  that  we  are,  and  make  my  breakfast 
of  peaches  and  cream  and  chocolate!  Shall  I  give 
you  some?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  with  a  little  grimace. 

"  No,  thanks.  I'm  Philistine  enough  to  prefer 
devilled  kidneys  and  tea.  I  wonder  if  there  is  any- 
thing in  the  letters." 

He  drew  a  key  from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and, 
unlocking  the  bag,  shook  its  contents  upon  the 
table-cloth.  His  daughter  looked  at  the  pile  with 
a  faint  show  of  interest.  There  were  one  or  two 
invitations,  which  he  tossed  over  to  her,  a  few  busi- 
ness letters,  which  he  put  on  one  side  for  more 
leisurely  perusal  later  on,  and  a  little  packet  from 
his  agent  which  he  opened  at  once,  and  the  con- 
tents of  which  brought  a  slight  frown  into  his 
handsome  face. 

Helen  Thurwell  glanced  through  her  share  with- 
out finding  anything  interesting.  Tennis  parties, 


4  THE  NEW  TENANT 

archery  meetings,  a  bazaar  fete;  absolutely  nothing 
fresh.  She  was  so  tired  of  all  that  sort  of  thing — 
tired  of  eternally  meeting  the  same  little  set  of 
people,  and  joining  in  the  same  round  of  so-called 
amusements.  There  was  nothing  in  Northshire  so- 
ciety which  attracted  her.  It  was  all  very  stupid, 
and  she  was  very  much  bored. 

"  Some  news  here  that  will  interest  you,  Helen," 
her  father  remarked  suddenly.  "  Who  do  you  think 
is  coming  home  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  She  was  not  in  the  least 
curious. 

"  I  don't  remember  any  one  going  away  lately," 
she  remarked.  "  How  warm  it  is!  " 

"  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  is  coming  back." 

After  all,  she  was  a  little  interested.  She  looked 
away  from  the  sunny  gardens  and  into  her  father's 
face. 

"Really!" 

"  It  is  a  fact !  "  he  declared.  "  Douglas  says  that 
he  will  be  here  to-day  or  to-morrow.  Let  me  see, 
it  must  be  nearly  fifteen  years  since  he  was  in  Eng- 
land. Time  he  settled  down,  if  he  means  to  at  all."* 

"  Was  he  very  wild,  then  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  squire  nodded. 

"Rather!"  he  answered  dryly.  "I  dare  say 
people  will  have  forgotten  all  about  it  by  now, 
though.  Forty  thousand  a  year  covers  a  multitude 
of  sins,  especially  in  a  tenth  baronet !  " 

She  asked  no  more  questions,  but  leaned  back  in 
her  chair,  and  looked  thoughtfully  across  the  open 
country  towards  the  grey  turrets  of  Kynaston 
Towers,  from  which  a  flag  was  flying.  Mr.  Thur- 
well  re-read  his  agent's  letter  with  a  slight  frown 
upon  his  forehead. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do  here,"  he  remarked. 


THE   NEW   TENANT  5 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  absently.  She  was 
watching  the  flag  slowly  unfurling  itself  in  the 
breeze,  and  fluttering  languidly  above  the  tree-tops. 
It  was  odd  to  think  that  a  master  was  coming  to 
rule  there. 

"  It's  about  Falcon's  Nest.  I  wish  I'd  never 
thought  of  letting  it !  " 

"  Why  ?  It  would  be  a  great  deal  better  occu- 
pied, surely!  " 

"  If  I  could  let  it  to  a  decent  tenant,  of  course 
it  would.  But,  you  know  that  fellow  Chapman, 
of  Mallory  ?  He  wants  it !  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly. 

"  You  surely  would  not  let  it  to  a  man  like  that  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  don't 
want  to  offend  him.  If  I  were  to  decide  to  stand 
for  the  county  at  the  next  election,  he  would  be 
my  most  useful  man  in  Mallory,  or  my  worst 
enemy.  He's  just  the  sort  of  fellow  to  take  offence 
— quickly,  too." 

"  Can't  you  tell  him  it's  let?  " 

"  Not  unless  I  do  let  it  to  some  one.  Of  course 
not!" 

"  But  are  there  no  other  applications  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  is  one  other,"  he  answered ;  "  but  the 
most  awkward  part  of  it  is  that  it's  from  a  com- 
plete stranger.  Fellow  who  calls  himself  '  Brown.' ' 

"  Let  me  see  the  letter,"  she  said. 

He  passed  it  over  the  table  to  her.  It  was 
written  on  plain  notepaper,  in  a  peculiar,  cramped 
handwriting. 

"  London,  May  30. 

"  DEAR  SIR, — I  understand,  from  an  advertise- 
ment in  this  week's  Field,  that  you  are  willing  to 
let  *  Falcon's  Nest,'  situated  on  your  estate.  I  shall 
be  happy  to  take  it  at  the  rent  you  quote,  if  not 


6  THE   NEW   TENANT 

already  disposed  of.  My  solicitors  are  Messrs. 
Cuthbert,  of  Lincoln's  Inn;  and  my  bankers,  Greg- 
sons.  I  may  add  that  I  am  a  bachelor,  living  alone. 
The  favor  of  your  immediate  reply  will  much 
oblige,  "  Yours  faithfully, 

"  BERNARD  BROWN/' 

She  folded  the  letter  up,  and  returned  it  to  her 
father  without  remark. 

"  You  see,"  Mr.  Thurwell  said,  "  my  only  chance 
of  escaping  from  Chapman,  without  offending  him, 
is  to  say  that  it  is  already  let,  and  to  accept  this 
fellow's  offer  straight  off.  But  it's  an  awful  risk. 
How  do  I  know  that  Brown  isn't  a  retired  tallow- 
chandler  or  something  of  that  sort  ?  " 

"Why  not  telegraph  to  his  solicitors  ? "  she 
suggested ;  "  they  would  know  who  he  was,  I 
suppose." 

•"  That's  not  a  bad  idea!  "  he  declared.  "  Morton 
shall  ride  over  to  Mallory  at  once.  I'm  glad  you 
thought  of  it,  Helen." 

Having  come  to  this  decision,  Mr.  Thurwell 
turned  round  and  made  an  excellent  breakfast,  after 
which  he  and  his  daughter  spent  the  day  very  much 
in  the  same  manner  as  any  other  English  country 
gentleman  and  young  lady  are  in  the  habit  of 
doing.  He  made  a  pretense  of  writing  some  letters 
and  arranging  some  business  affairs  with  his  agent 
in  the  library  for  an  hour,  and,  later  on  in  the 
morning,  he  drove  over  to  Mallory,  and  took  his 
seat  on  the  magistrates'  bench  during  the  hearing 
of  a  poaching  case.  After  lunch,  he  rode  to  an 
outlying  farm  to  inspect  a  new  system  of  drainage, 
and  when  he  returned,  about  an  hour  before  dinner- 
time, he  considered  that  he  had  done  a  good  day's 
work. 


THE   NEW   TENANT  7 

Helen  spent  the  early  part  of  the  morning  in 
the  garden,  and  arranging  freshly  cut  flowers  about 
the  house.  Then  she  practised  for  an  hour,  solely 
out  of  a  sense  of  duty,  for  she  was  no  musician. 
Directly  the  time  was  up,  she  closed  the  piano  with 
a  sigh  of  relief,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  time  before 
two  o'clock  reading  a  rather  stupid  novel.  After 
luncheon  she  made  a  call  several  miles  off,  driving 
herself  in  a  light-brown  cart,  and  played  several  sets 
of  tennis,  having  for  her  partner  a  very  mild  and 
brainless  young  curate.  At  dinner  time  she  and  her 
father  met  again,  and  when  he  entered  the  room  he 
had  two  slips  of  orange-colored  paper  in  his  hand. 

"  Well,  what  news  ?  "  she  inquired. 

He  handed  the  telegrams  to  her  without  a  word, 
and  she  glanced  them  through.  The  first  was  from 
the  bankers. 

"  To  Guy  Davenant  Thurwell,  Esq., 

Thurwell  Court,  Northshire. 
"  We  consider  Mr.  Brown  a  desirable  tenant  for 
you  from  a  pecuniary  point  of  view.     We  know 
nothing  of  his  family." 

The  other  one  was  from  his  lawyers. 

"  To  Guy  D.  Thurwell,  Esq., 
Thurwell  Court,  Northshire. 
"  Mr.  Brown  is  a  gentleman  of  means,  and  quite 
in  a  position  to  rent  '  Falcon's  Nest.'    We  are  not 
at  liberty  to  say  anything  as  to  his  antecedents  or 
family." 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  asked  Mr.  Thurwell, 
undecidedly.  "  I  don't  like  the  end  of  this  last 
telegram.  A  solicitor  ought  to  be  able  to  say  a 
little  more  about  a  client  than  that." 


8  THE   NEW   TENANT 

Helen  considered  for  a  moment.  She  was  so  little 
interested  in  the  matter  that  she  found  it  difficult 
to  make  up  her  mind  either  way.  Afterwards  she 
scarcely  dared  think  of  that  moment's  indecision. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  she  said.  "  All  the  same,  I  detest 
Mr.  Chapman.  I  should  vote  for  Mr.  Brown." 

"  Mr.  Brown  it  shall  be,  then ! "  he  answered. 
"  Douglas  shall  write  him  to-morrow." 

A  fortnight  later  Mr.  Bernard  Brown  took  up 
his  quarters  at  Falcon's  Nest. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE    MURDER    NEAR    THE    FALCON^S    NEST 

"  I  CALL  it  perfectly  dreadful  of  those  men ! " 
Helen  Thurwell  exclaimed  suddenly.  "  They're 
more  than  an  hour  late,  and  I'm  desperately  hun- 
gry!" 

"  It  is  rank  ingratitude ! "  Rachel  Kynaston 
sighed.  "  I  positively  cannot  sit  still  and  look  at 
that  luncheon  any  longer.  Groves,  give  me  a  bis- 
cuit." 

They  were  both  seated  on  low  folding-chairs  out 
on  the  open  moorland,  only  a  few  yards  away  from 
the  edge  of  the  rugged  line  of  cliffs  against  which, 
many  hundreds  of  feet  below,  the  sea  was  breaking 
with  a  low  monotonous  murmur.  Close  behind 
them,  on  a  level  stretch  of  springy  turf,  a  roughly 
improvised  table,  covered  with  a  cloth  of  dazzling 
whiteness,  was  laden  with  deep  bowls  of  lobster 
salad,  pates  de  foie  gras,  chickens,  truffled  turkeys, 
piles  of  hothouse  fruit,  and  many  other  delicacies 
peculiarly  appreciated  at  al  fresco  symposia;  and,  a 
little  further  away  still,  under  the  shade  of  a  huge 
yellow  gorse  bush,  were  several  ice-pails,  in  which 
were  reposing  many  rows  of  gold-foiled  bottles. 
The  warm  sun  was  just  sufficiently  tempered  by  a 
mild  heather-scented  breeze,  and  though  it  flashed 
gayly  upon  the  glass  and  silver,  and  danced  across 
the  bosom  of  the  blue  water  below,  its  heat  was  more 
pleasant  than  oppressive.  The  two  women  who  sat 

9 


10  THE   NEW  TENANT 

there  looked  delightfully  cool.  Helen  Thurwell  es- 
pecially, in  her  white  holland  gown,  with  a  great 
bunch  of  heather  stuck  in  her  belt,  and  a  faint 
healthy  glow  in  her  cheeks,  looked  as  only  an  Eng- 
lish country  girl  of  good  birth  can  look — the  very 
personification  of  dainty  freshness. 

"  There  go  the  guns  again ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Listen  to  the  echoes.  They  can't  be  far  away 
now." 

There  was  a  little  murmur  of  satisfaction.  Every 
allowance  is  to  be  made  for  such  a  keen  sportsman 
as  Mr.  Thurwell  on  the  glorious  twelfth,  but  the 
time  fixed  for  the  rendezvous  had  been  exceeded  by 
more  than  an  hour. 

"I  have  reached  the  limit  of  my  endurance!" 
Rachel  Kynaston  declared,  getting  up  from  her  seat. 
"  I  must  either  lunch  or  faint !  As  a  matter  of 
choice,  I  prefer  the  former." 

"  They  will  be  here  directly,  miss,"  Groves  re- 
marked, as  he  completed  the  finishing  touches  which 
he  had  been  putting  to  the  table,  and  stepped  back  a 
little  to  view  the  effect.  So  far  as  he  was  concerned 
they  might  come  any  time  now.  For  once  his  sub- 
ordinates had  not  failed  him.  Nothing  had  been 
forgotten;  and,  on  the  whole,  he  felt  that  he  had 
reason  to  be  proud  of  his  handiwork. 

He  glanced  away  inland  again,  shading  his  eyes 
with  his  hand. 

"  They'll  be  coming  round  the  Black  Copse  in  five 
minutes,"  he  said,  half  to  himself.  "  James,  get  the 
other  chairs  out  of  the  wagon." 

Rachel  Kynaston  was  still  standing  up  looking 
around  her.  Suddenly  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  quaintly 
built  cottage,  perched  upon  the  edge  of  the  cliff  about 
a  mile  away. 

"  I  meant  to  ask  you  before,   Helen,"  she  ex- 


THE  NEW  TENANT  n 

claimed.  "  Who  lives  in  that  extraordinary-looking 
building — Falcon's  Nest,  I  think  you  call  it  ?  " 

She  moved  her  parasol  in  its  direction,  and  looked 
at  it  curiously.  A  strange-looking  abode  it  certainly 
was;  built  of  yellow  stone,  with  a  background  of 
stunted  fir  trees  which  stretched  half  way  down  the 
cliff  side. 

Helen  Thurwell  looked  across  at  it  indifferently. 

"  I  can  tell  you  his  name,  and  that  is  all,"  she 
answered.  "  He  calls  himself  Mr.  Brown — Mr. 
Bernard  Brown." 

"  Well,  who  is  he ?    What  does  he  do?  " 

Helen  shook  her  head. 

"  Really,  I  haven't  the  least  idea,"  she  declared. 
"  I  do  not  even  know  what  he  is  like.  He  has  been 
there  for  two  months,  and  we  haven't  seen  him  yet. 
Papa  called  upon  him,  but  he  was  out.  He  has  not 
returned  the  call!  He — oh,  bother  Mr.  Brown, 
here  they  come !  I'm  so  glad !  " 

They  both  got  up  and  looked.  Rounding  the 
corner  of  a  long  plantation,  about  half  a  mile  away, 
were  several  men  in  broken  line,  with  their  guns 
under  their  arms ;  and  a  little  way  behind  came  three 
keepers,  carrying  bags. 

Rachel  Kynaston  looked  at  them  fixedly. 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,"  she  counted.  "  One 
short.  I  don't  see  Geoffrey." 

Helen  moved  to  her  side,  and  shaded  her  eyes 
with  her  hand.  On  the  fourth  finger  a  half  hoop  of 
diamonds,  which  had  not  been  there  three  months 
ago,  was  flashing  in  the  sunlight. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  she  said.  "  I  wonder  where 
he  is." 

Her  tone  was  a  little  indifferent,  considering  that 
it  was  her  fiance  who  was  missing.  But  no  one  ever 
looked  for  much  display  of  feeling  from  Helen 


12  THE   NEW   TENANT 

Thurwell,  not  even  the  man  who  called  himself  her 
lover.  Indeed,  her  unresponsiveness  to  his  advances 
— a  sort  of  delicate  composure  which  he  was  power- 
less in  any  way  to  break  through — had  been  her 
strongest  attraction  to  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,  who 
was  quite  unused  to  anything  of  the  sort. 

The  men  quickened  their  pace,  and  emptying  their 
guns  into  the  air,  soon  came  within  hailing  distance. 
On  that  particular  day  of  the  year  there  was  only 
one  possible  greeting,  and  Helen  and  her  companion 
contented  themselves  with  a  monosyllable. 

"Well?" 

Mr.  Thurwell  was  in  the  front  rank,  and  evidently 
in  the  best  of  spirits.  It  was  he  who  answered  them. 

"  Capital  sport !  "  he  declared  heartily.  "  Birds  a 
little  wild,  but  strong,  and  plenty  of  them.  We've 
made  a  big  bag  for  only  three  guns.  Sir  Geoffrey 
was  in  capital  form.  Groves,  open  a  bottle  of  Heid- 
seck." 

"  Where  is  Geoffrey?"  asked  Rachel — his  sister. 

Mr.  Thurwell  looked  round  and  discovered  his 
absence  for  the  first  time. 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  he  answered,  a  little  be- 
wildered ;  "  He  was  with  us  a  few  minutes  ago. 
What's  become  of  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,  Heggs  ?  " 
he  asked,  turning  round  to  one  of  the  gamekeepers. 

"  He  left  us  at  the  top  of  the  Black  Copse,  sir," 
the  man  answered.  "  He  was  coming  round  by  the 
other  side — shot  a  woodcock  there  once,  sir,"  he 
said." 

They  glanced  across  the  moor  toward  Falcon's 
Nest.  There  was  no  one  in  sight. 

"  He's  had  plenty  of  time  to  get  round,"  remarked 
Lord  Lathon,  throwing  down  his  gun.  "  Perhaps 
he's  resting." 

Mr.  Thurwell  shook  his  head. 


THE   NEW  TENANT  13 

"  No ;  he  wouldn't  do  that,"  he  said.  "  He  was 
as  keen  about  getting  here  as  any  of  us.  Hark! 
what  was  that  ?  " 

A  faint  sound  was  borne  across  the  moor  on  the 
lazily  stirring  breeze.  Helen,  whose  hearing  was 
very  keen,  started,  and  the  little  party  exchanged 
uneasy  glances. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  sea-gull,"  remarked  Lord 
Lathon,  who  wanted  his  luncheon  very  badly  indeed. 
"  We'd  better  not  wait  for  him.  He'll  turn  up  all 
right ;  Geoffrey  always  does.  Come " 

He  broke  off  suddenly  in  his  speech  and  listened. 
There  was  another  sound,  and  this  time  there  was 
no  mistake  about  it.  It  was  the  low,  prolonged  howl 
of  a  spaniel — a  mournful  sound  which  struck  a 
strange  note  in  the  afternoon  stillness.  There  was 
breathless  silence  for  a  moment  amongst  the  little 
group,  and  the  becoming  glow  died  out  of  Helen's 
cheek. 

Rachel  Kynaston  was  the  first  to  recover  her- 
self. 

"  Had  Sir  Geoffrey  a  dog  with  him,  Heggs  ?  " 
she  asked  quickly. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  the  man  answered.  "  His  favorite 
spaniel  had  got  unchained  somehow,  and  found  us 
on  the  moor.  I  saw  her  at  heel  when  he  left  us. 
She  was  very  quiet,  and  Sir  Geoffrey  wouldn't  have 
her  sent  back." 

"  Then  something  has  happened  to  him ! "  she 
cried.  "  That  was  Fido's  howl." 

"Has  anyone  heard  his  gun?"  Mr.  Thurwell 
asked. 

There  was  no  one  left  to  answer  him.  They  had 
all  started  across  the  moor  toward  the  black  patch 
of  spinneys  around  which  Sir  Geoffrey  should  have 
come.  Mr.  Thurwell,  forgetting  his  fatigue,  hurried 


14  THE  NEW  TENANT 

after  them ;  and  Helen,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
followed  too,  some  distance  behind. 

She  ran  swiftly,  but  her  dress  caught  often  in  the 
prickly  gorse,  and  she  had  to  pause  each  time  to 
release  herself.  Soon  she  found  herself  alone,  for 
the  others  had  all  turned  the  corner  of  the  plantation 
before  she  reached  it.  There  was  a  strong,  sickly 
sense  of  coming  disaster  swelling  in  her  heart,  and 
her  knees  were  tottering.  Still  she  held  on  her  way 
bravely.  A  few  yards  before  she  reached  the  cor- 
ner of  the  plantation,  she  almost  ran  into  the  arms 
of  Lord  Lathon,  who  was  hurrying  back  to  meet 
her.  There  was  a  ghastly  shade  in  his  pale  face,  and 
his  voice  trembled. 

"  Miss  Thurwell,"  he  exclaimed  in  an  agitated 
tone,  "  you  must  not  come !  Let  me  take  you  back. 
Something — has  happened !  I  am  going  to  Rachel. 
Come  with  me." 

She  drew  away  from  him,  and  threw  off  his  re- 
straining arm. 

"  No ;  I  must  see  for  myself.  Let  me  pass,  please 
— at  once." 

He  tried  again  to  prevent  her,  but  she  eluded  him. 
A  few  rapid  steps  and  she  had  gained  the  corner. 
There  they  all  were  in  a  little  group  scarcely  a  dozen 
yards  away.  A  mist  floated  before  her  eyes,  but  she 
would  see;  she  was  determined  that  she  would  see 
this  thing  for  herself.  She  struggled  on  a  few  steps 
nearer.  There  was  something  lying  on  the  grass 
around  which  they  were  all  gathered;  something 
very  much  like  a  human  shape.  Ah !  she  could  see 
more  plainly  now.  It  was  Sir  Geoffrey — Sir 
Geoffrey  Kynaston.  He  was  lying  half  on  the  grass 
and  half  in  the  dry  ditch.  His  white  face  was  up- 
turned to  the  cloudless  sky ;  by  his  side,  and  discolor- 
ing his  brown  tweed  shooting  coat,  was  a  dark  wet 


THE   NEW   TENANT  15 

stain.  In  the  midst  of  it  something  bright  was  flash- 
ing in  the  sunlight. 

She  stood  still,  rooted  to  the  spot  with  a  great 
horror.  Her  pulses  had  ceased  to  beat.  The  warm 
summer  day  seemed  suddenly  to  have  closed  in 
around  her.  There  was  a  singing  in  her  ears,  and 
she  found  herself  battling  hard  with  a  deadly  faint- 
ness.  Yet  she  found  words. 

"  Has  he — shot  himself  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Is  it  an 
accident?  " 

Her  father  turned  round  with  a  little  cry,  and 
hastened  to  her  side. 

"  Helen !  "  he  gasped.  "  You  should  not  be  here ! 
Come  away,  child !  I  sent  Lathon " 

"  I  will  know — what  it  is.  Is  it  an  accident?  Is 
he— dead?" 

He  shook  his  head.  The  healthy  sunburnt  tan 
had  left  his  face,  and  he  was  white  to  the  lips. 

"  He  has  been  murdered !  "  he  faltered.  "  Foully, 
brutally  murdered ! " 


CHAPTER   III 

MR.    BERNARD    BROWN 

MURDER  is  generally  associated  in  one's  mind 
with  darkness,  the  still  hours  of  night,  and  bestiality. 
It  is  the  outcome  of  the  fierce  animal  lust  for  blood, 
provoked  by  low  passions  working  in  low  minds. 
De  Quincey's  brilliant  attempt  to  elevate  it  to  a  place 
among  the  fine  arts  has  only  enriched  its  horrors 
as  an  abstract  idea.  Even  detached  from  its  usual 
environment  of  darkness,  and  ignorance,  and  vice, 
it  is  an  ugly  thing. 

But  here  was  something  quite  different.  Such  a 
tragedy  as  this  which  had  just  occurred  was  pos- 
sessed of  a  peculiar  hideousness  of  its  own.  It 
seemed  to  have  completely  laid  hold  of  the  little 
group  of  men  gathered  round  the  body  of  Sir 
Geoffrey  Kynaston;  to  have  bereft  them  of  all  rea- 
soning power  and  thought,  to  have  numbed  even 
their  limbs  and  physical  instincts.  It  was  only  a  few 
minutes  ago  since  they  had  left  him,  careless  and 
debonair,  with  hisJ:houghts  intent  upon  the  business, 
or  rather  the  sport,  of  the  hour.  His  laugh  had 
been  the  loudest,  his  enjoyment  the  keenest,  and  his 
gun  the  most  deadly  of  them  all.  But  now  he  lay 
there  cold  and  lifeless,  with  his  heart's  blood  stain- 
ing the  green  turf,  and  his  sightless  eyes  dull  and 
glazed.  It  was  an  awful  thing ! 

Physically,  he  had  been  the  very  model  of  an  Eng- 
lish country  gentleman,  tall  and  powerful,  with 

16 


THE   NEW   TENANT  17 

great  broad  shoulders,  and  strikingly  upright  car- 
riage, full  of  vigorous  animal  life,  with  the  slight 
restlessness  of  the  constant  traveler  banished  by  his 
sudden  passion  for  the  girl  who  had  so  lately  prom- 
ised to  be  his  wife. 

She  drew  a  little  nearer — they  were  all  too  much 
overcome  by  the  shock  of  this  thing  to  prevent  her 
— and  stood  with  glazed  eyes  looking  down  upon 
him.  Everything,  even  the  minutest  article  of  his 
dress,  seemed  to  appeal  to  her  with  a  strange  vivid- 
ness. She  found  herself  even  studying  the  large 
check  of  his  shooting-coat  and  the  stockings  which 
she  had  once  laughingly  admired,  and  which  he  had 
ever  since  worn.  Her  eyes  rested  upon  the  sprig  of 
heliotrope  which,  with  her  own  fingers,  she  had  ar- 
ranged in  his  button  hole,  as  they  ha-d  strolled  down 
the  garden  together  just  before  the  start;  and  the 
faint  perfume  which  reached  her  where  she  stood, 
helped  her  to  realize  that  she  was  in  the  thrall  of 
no  nightmare,  but  that  this  thing  had  really  hap- 
pened. She  had  never  loved  him,  she  had  never  even 
pretended  to  love  him,  and  it  was  less  any  sense  of 
personal  loss  than  the  hideous  sin  of  it  which  swept 
in  upon  her  as  she  stood  there  looking  down  upon 
him.  She  recognized,  as  she  could  never  have  done 
had  he  been  personally  dear  to  her,  the  ethical  hor- 
ror of  the  thing.  The  faintness  which  had  almost 
numbed  her  senses  passed  away.  In  that  swift  bat- 
tle of  many  sensations  it  was  anger  which  survived. 

Her  voice  first  broke  the  deep,  awed  stillness. 

"  Who  has  done  this  ?  "  she  cried,  pointing  down- 
ward. 

Her  words  were  like  a  sudden  awakening  to 
them  all.  They  had  been  standing  like  figures  in  a 
silent  tableau,  stricken  dumb  and  motionless.  Now 
there  was  a  stir.  The  fire  in  her  tone  had  dissolved 


1 8  THE  NEW  TENANT 

their  torpor.  She  was  standing  on  rising  ground  a 
little  above  the  rest  of  them,  and  her  attitude,  to- 
gether with  the  gesture  by  which  she  enforced  her 
words,  was  full  of  intense  dramatic  force.  The  slim 
undulating  beauty  of  her  form  was  enhanced  by  the 
slight  disorder  of  her  dress,  and  her  red-gold  hair — 
she  had  lost  her  hat — shone  and  glistened  in  the 
sunlight  till  every  thread  was  shining  like  burnished 
gold.  They  themselves  were  in  the  shade  of  the 
dark  pine  trees,  and  she  standing  upon  the  margin 
of  the  moor  with  the  warm  sunlight  glowing  around 
her,  seemed  like  a  being  of  another  world.  After- 
wards when  they  recalled  that  scene — and  there  was 
no  one  there  who  ever  forgot  it — they  could  scarcely 
tell  which  seemed  the  most  terrible  part  to  them — 
the  lifeless  body  of  the  murdered  man  with  the 
terrible  writing  of  death  in  his  white  face,  or  the 
tragic  figure  of  Helen  Thurwell,  the  squire's  cold, 
graceful  daughter,  with  her  placid  features  and 
whole  being  suddenly  transformed  with  this  wave 
of  passion. 

Mr.  Thurwell  drew  a  few  steps  backward,  and  his 
keen  gray  eyes  swept  the  open  country  round. 

"  There  was  no  one  in  sight  when  we  got  here ; 
but  the  blackguard  can't  be  far  away ! "  he  said. 
"  Heggs,  and  you,  Smith,  and  you,  Cook,  go 
through  the  spinney  as  fast  as  you  can,  one  in  the 
middle  and  one  on  each  side,  mind!  I  will  go  up 
Falcon's  Hill  and  look  round.  Jem,  run  to  Mallory 
as  fast  as  you  can  for  Dr.  Holmes,  and  on  to  the 
police  station.  Quick!  all  of  you.  There's  not  a 
moment  to  lose !  " 

The  desire  for  action  was  as  strong  in  them 
now  as  had  been  their  former  torpor.  Mr.  Thur- 
well and  his  daughter  were  alone  in  less  than  a 
minute. 


THE   NEW  TENANT  19 

"  Helen,  I  forgot  you !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  can't 
leave  you  alone,  and  some  one  must  stay  here. 
Where  isLathon?" 

"  He  has  gone  on  to  take  Rachel  home,"  she  an- 
swered. "  I  will  stay  here.  I  am  not  afraid.  Quick ! 
you  can  see  for  miles  from  the  top  of  the  hill  and 
you  have  your  field  glass.  Oh,  do  go.  Go !  " 

He  hesitated,  but  she  was  evidently  very  much  in 
earnest. 

"  I  will  just  climb  the  hill  and  hurry  down 
again,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  leave  you  here  for  more 
than  a  few  minutes.  If  only  we  had  more  men 
with  us !  " 

He  turned  away,  and  walked  swiftly  across  the 
moor  toward  the  hill.  For  a  minute  or  two  she 
stood  watching  his  departing  figure.  Then  she 
turned  round  with  a  shudder  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  clasped  hands.  Her  appearance  was  less  hard 
now  and  more  natural,  for  a  sickly  sense  of  horror 
at  the  sight  of  his  body  was  commencing  to  assert 
itself  over  that  first  strange  instinct  of  passionate 
anger.  It  was  none  the  less  dreadful  to  her  because 
in  a  certain  way  his  removal  was  a  release.  She  had 
promised  to  marry  this  man,  but  there  had  been 
scarcely  a  moment  since  when  she  had  not  found 
herself  regretting  it.  Now  the  sense  of  freedom, 
which  she  could  not  altogether  evade,  was  like  tor- 
ture to  her.  She  dropped  on  her  knees  by  his  side, 
and  took  his  cold  hand  in  hers.  A  few  hours  ago 
she  dared  not  have  done  this,  knowing  very  well 
that  at  the  caressing  touch  of  her  fingers,  she  would 
have  felt  his  strong  arms  around  her  in  a  passionate 
and  distasteful  embrace.  But  there  was  no  fear  of 
this  now.  She  would  never  have  to  shrink  away 
from  him  again.  He  was  dead ! 

The   warm   sunlight   was   glancing   among   the 


20  THE   NEW   TENANT 

thickly  growing  pine  trees  in  the  plantation  by  her 
side,  casting  quaint  shadows  on  the  cone-strewn 
ground,  across  the  little  piece  of  broken  paling  in 
the  bottom  of  the  dry  ditch,  and  upon  the  mossy 
bank  where  his  head  was  resting  upon  a  sweet- 
smelling  tuft  of  heather.  Most  of  all  it  flashed  and 
glittered  upon  the  inch  or  two  of  steel  which  still  lay 
buried  in  his  side — a  curiously  shaped  little  dagger 
which,  although  she  strove  to  keep  her  eyes  away 
from  it,  seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  fascination  for  her. 
Every  time  her  eyes  fell  upon  it,  she  turned  away 
quickly  with  a  little  shudder;  but,  nevertheless,  she 
looked  at  it  more  than  once — and  she  remembered  it. 

The  deep  stillness  of  the  autumn  afternoon  pres- 
ently became  almost  oppressive  to  her.  There  was 
the  far-off,  sweet  low  murmur  of  a  placid  sea  roll- 
ing in  upon  the  base  of  the  cliffs,  the  constant 
chirping  of  ground  insects,  and  the  occasional  scur- 
rying of  a  rabbit  through  the  undergrowth.  Once 
a  great  lean  rat  stole  up  from  the  ditch,  and — horri- 
ble— ran  across  his  body;  but  at  the  sound  of  her 
startled  movement  it  paused,  sat  for  a  moment  quite 
still,  with  its  wide-open  black  eyes  blinking  at  her, 
and  then  to  her  inexpressible  relief  scampered  away. 
She  was  used  to  the  country,  with  its  intense  un- 
broken silence,  but  she  had  never  felt  it  so  hard  to 
bear  as  on  that  afternoon.  Time  became  purely 
relative  to  her.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  knew  after- 
wards that  she  could  not  have  been  alone  more  than 
five  minutes.  It  was  like  an  eternity.  She  listened 
in  vain  for  any  human  sound,  even  for  the  far-off 
sweep  of  the  scythe  in  the  bracken,  or  the  call  of  the 
laborer  to  his  horses.  The  tension  of  those  mo- 
ments was  horrible. 

She  plucked  a  handful  of  bay  leaves  from  the 
ditch,  and  strove,  by  pressing  them  against  her  tern- 


THE   NEW   TENANT  21 

pie,  to  cool  the  fever  in  her  blood.  Then  she  took 
up  once  more  her  position  by  his  side,  for  horrible 
though  the  sight  of  it  was,  his  body  seemed  to  have 
a  sort  of  fascination  for  her,  and  she  could  not 
wander  far  away  from  it.  Once  or  twice  she  had 
looked  round,  but  there  had  been  no  human  figure  in 
sight,  nor  any  sign  of  any.  But  as  she  knelt  there 
on  the  short  turf,  pressing  the  cool  leaves  to  her 
aching  forehead,  she  was  suddenly  conscious  of  a 
new  sensation.  Without  hearing  or  seeing  anything, 
she  knew  that  some  one  was  approaching,  and, 
stranger  still,  she  was  conscious  of  a  distinct  reluc- 
tance to  turn  her  head  and  see  who  it  was.  She 
heard  no  footsteps ;  the  soft  stillness  was  broken  by 
the  sound  of  no  human  voice.  She  wished  to  turn 
round,  and  yet  she  shrank  from  it.  Something  fresh 
was  going  to  happen — something  was  at  hand  to 
trouble  her.  She  made  a  great  effort,  and  rose  to 
her  feet.  Then,  breaking  through  her  conscious 
reluctance,  she  turned  round. 

A  single  figure,  at  that  moment  on  a  slightly  ele- 
vated ridge  of  the  bare  moor,  stood  out  against  the 
sky.  He  was  walking  swiftly  toward  her,  and  yet 
without  any  appearance  of  hurry;  and  from  the  di- 
rection in  which  he  was  coming,  it  was  evident  that 
he  had  just  left  Falcon's  Nest.  This  fact  and  his 
being  unknown  to  her  sufficiently  established  his 
identity.  It  was  her  father's  tenant,  Mr.  Bernard 
Brown. 


CHAPTER    IV 

AN   EVIL   END   TO   AN   EVIL   LIFE 

THEY  say  that,  as  a  rule,  the  most  grotesquely 
unimportant  trifles  flash  into  the  mind  and  engage 
the  last  thoughts  of  a  drowning  man.  Regarding 
this  in  the  light  of  an  analogy,  something  of  the 
same  sort  was  now  happening  to  Helen  Thurwell. 

With  her  mind  steeped  in  the  horror  of  the  last 
few  hours,  she  yet  found  that  she  was  able  after- 
wards to  recall  every  slight  particular  with  regard 
to  this  man's  appearance,  and  even  his  dress.  She 
remembered  the  firm  evenness  of  his  movements, 
swift,  yet  free  from  all  ungraceful  haste;  the  ex- 
treme shabbiness  of  his  coat,  his  ill-arranged  neck- 
tie, escaped  from  all  restraint  of  collar  and  waist- 
coat, and  flying  loosely  behind  him;  his  trousers 
very  much  turned  up,  and  very  much  frayed,  and 
the  almost  singular  height  of  his  loose  angular 
figure.  His  face,  too — she  remembered  that  better 
than  anything — with  its  pale  hollow  cheeks  and  deli- 
cate outline,  deep-set  dark  blue  eyes,  black  eye- 
brows, and  long,  unkempt  hair,  which  would  have 
looked  very  much  the  better  for  a  little  trimming. 
A  man  utterly  regardless  of  his  appearance,  untidy, 
almost  slovenly  in  his  attire,  yet  with  something 
about  him  different  from  other  men. 

He  was  within  a  few  yards  of  her  when  she  saw 
a  sudden  change  flash  into  his  face  as  their  eyes 
met.  He  hesitated  and  a  faint  color  came  into  his 
cheeks,  only  to  fade  away  again  immediately,  leav- 


THE   NEW   TENANT  23 

ing  them  whiter  than  ever.  There  was  something 
in  his  intense  gaze  which  at  that  time  she  had  no 
means  of  understanding.  But  it  was  over  in  a 
moment.  He  advanced  rapidly,  and  stood  by  her 
side. 

She  still  watched  him.  She  could  see  that  his 
whole  frame  was  vibrating  with  strong  internal 
emotion  as  he  looked  downward  on  the  glazed  eyes 
and  motionless  form  of  the  murdered  man.  His 
lips  were  pallid,  and  his  hands  were  tightly  clasped 
together.  There  was  one  thing  which  seemed  to  her 
very  strange.  He  had  not  started,  or  exhibited  the 
least  sign  of  surprise  at  the  dreadful  sight.  It  was 
almost  as  though  he  had  known  all  about  it. 

"  This  is  a  terrible  thing,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone, 
breaking  the  silence  between  them  for  the  first  time. 
"  You  have  heard  of  it,  I  suppose  ?  " 

He  dropped  down  on  one  knee,  and  bent  close 
over  the  dead  man,  feeling  his  heart  and  pulse.  In 
that  position  his  face  was  hidden  from  her. 

"  No ;  I  knew  nothing.  He  has  been  killed — like 
this?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  anyone  see  it?    Is  the  man  caught?  " 

"  We  know  nothing,"  she  answered.  "  We  found 
him  like  this.  There  was  no  one  in  sight." 

He  rose  deliberately  to  his  feet.  Her  heart  was 
beating  fast  now,  and  she  looked  searchingly  into 
his  face.  It  told  her  little.  He  was  grave,  but  per- 
fectly composed. 

"  How  is  it  that  you  are  alone  here  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Does  no  one  else  know  of  this  ?  " 

She  moved  her  head  in  assent. 

"  Yes ;  but  they  have  all  gone  to  hunt  for  the 
murderer.  If  only  you  had  been  looking  from  your 
window,  you  would  have  seen  it  all !  " 


24  THE   NEW   TENANT 

He  did  not  look  as  though  he  shared  her  regret. 
He  was  standing  on  the  other  side  of  the  dead  man, 
with  his  arms  folded  and  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  upon 
the  cold  white  face.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
her  presence. 

"  An  evil  end  to  an  evil  life,"  he  said  slowly  to 
himself,  and  then  he  added  something  which  she  did 
not  hear. 

"  You  knew  him,  then  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  fixedly,  and  then 
down  again  into  the  dead  man's  face. 

"  I  have  heard  of  him  abroad,"  he  said.  "  Sir 
Geoffrey  Kynaston  was  a  man  with  a  reputation." 

"  You  will  remember  that  he  is  dead,"  she  said 
slowly,  for  the  scorn  in  his  words  troubled  her. 

He  bowed  his  head,  and  was  silent.  Watching 
him  closely,  she  could  see  that  he  was  far  more 
deeply  moved  than  appeared  on  the  surface.  His 
teeth  were  set  together,  and  there  was  a  curious 
faint  flush  of  color  in  his  livid  cheeks.  She  followed 
his  eyes,  wondering.  They  were  fixed,  not  upon  the 
dead  man's  face,  but  on  the  dagger  which  lay  buried 
in  his  heart,  and  the  handle  of  which  was  still  visible. 

"  That  should  be  a  clue,"  he  remarked,  breaking  a 
short  silence. 

"  Yes.  I  hope  to  God  that  they  will  find  the 
wretch !  "  she  answered  passionately. 

She  looked  up  at  him  as  she  spoke.  His  eyes 
were  traveling  over  the  moor,  and  his  hand  was 
shading  them. 

"  There  is  some  one  coming,"  he  said.  "  We 
shall  know  very  soon." 

She  followed  his  rapt  gaze,  and  saw  three  men 
coming  toward  them.  One  was  her  father,  another 
the  underkeeper,  and  the  third  was  a  stranger. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE    INNER    ROOM    AT    THE    FALCON'S    NEST 

TOGETHER  they  watched  the  approaching  figures. 
Helen,  standing  a  little  apart,  had  the  better  view. 

"  There  is  my  father,  and  Heggs,  and  some  one 
whom  I  do  not  know,"  she  announced  quietly.  "  I 
wonder  if  it  is  a  doctor." 

He  did  not  answer  her.  She  glanced  toward  him, 
wondering  at  his  silence  and  rigid  attitude.  His 
eyes  were  still  bent  upon  the  three  men,  and  there 
was  a  hard,  strained  look  in  his  white  face.  While 
she  was  watching  him  she  saw  a  spasm  of  what 
seemed  almost  like  physical  pain  pass  across  his 
countenance.  Certainly  this  was  no  unfeeling  man. 
In  his  way  he  seemed  as  deeply  moved  as  she  her- 
self was. 

They  were  quite  close  now,  and  she  had  a  good 
view  of  the  stranger.  He  did  not  look,  by  any 
means,  a  person  to  be  afraid  of.  In  all  her  life  she 
thought  she  had  never  seen  such  a  handsome  old 
gentleman — and  gentleman  he  most  assuredly  was. 
His  hair  was  quite  white,  and  his  beard — carefully 
trimmed  and  pointed  after  the  fashion  of  one  of 
Velasquez'  pictures — was  of  the  same  color.  Yet 
his  walk  was  upright  and  vigorous,  and  he  carried 
himself  with  dignity.  His  high  forehead,  and 
rather  long,  oval  face,  with  its  delicate,  clearly  cut 
features,  had  at  once  the  stamp  of  intellect  and 
benevolence,  and,  as  though  preserved  by  careful 

25 


26  THE   NEW   TENANT 

and  refined  living,  had  still  much  of  the  freshness  of 
youth.  He  was  dressed  in  a  rough  tweed  walking- 
suit,  with  gaiters  and  thick  boots,  and  carried  under 
his  arm  a  somewhat  ponderous  book,  and  a  botani- 
cal specimen  case.  Helen  felt  a  woman's  instinctive 
liking  for  him  before  she  had  even  heard  him  speak. 

"  Have  you  thought  us  long,  Helen  ?  "  her  father 
exclaimed  anxiously.  "  We  haven't  seen  anything 
of  the  scoundrel,  but  Heggs  was  fortunate  enough 
to  meet  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  on  the  moor,  and  he 
very  kindly  offered  to  return." 

Sir  Allan  was  on  his  knees  by  the  body  before  Mr. 
Thurwell  had  finished  his  sentence.  They  all 
watched  his  brief  examination. 

"Poor  fellow!  poor  fellow!"  he  exclaimed  in  a 
shocked  tone.  "  That  wretched  thing  " — lightly 
touching  the  handle  of  the  dagger — "  is  clean 
through  his  heart.  It  was  a  strong,  cruel  arm  that 
drove  that  home.  Nothing  can  be  done,  of  course. 
He  must  have  died  within  a  few  seconds !  "  He  rose 
from  his  knees  and  looked  around.  "  What  is  to  be 
done  with  the  body  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It  must  be  re- 
moved somewhere.  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,  did  you 
say  it  was  ?  Dear  me !  dear  me  I  I  knew  his  sister 
quite  well." 

"  She  is  not  far  away,"  Mr.  Thurwell  said. 
"  She  and  my  daughter  were  awaiting  luncheon  for 
us  on  the  cliffs  yonder,  when  this  horrible  thing 
occurred.  Lathon  went  back  to  look  for  her.  We 
were  afraid  that  she  might  follow  us  here.  She  was 
very  fond  of  her  brother,  and  he  had  only  just 
returned  home  after  many  years'  traveling." 

"Poor  fellow!"  Sir  Allan  said  softly.  "But 
about  moving  him.  Who  lives  in  that  queer-look- 
ing place  yonder  ?  " 

Mr.  Thurwell,  who  knew  his  tenant  by  sight,  al- 


THE   NEW  TENANT  27 

though  they  had  never  spoken,  looked  at  him  and 
hesitated.  Sir  Allan  did  the  same. 

"  That  is  where  I  live,"  Mr.  Brown  said  slowly. 
"  If  Mr.  Thurwell  thinks  well,  let  him  be  taken 
there." 

He  spoke  without  looking  round  or  addressing 
any  one  in  particular.  His  back  was  turned  upon 
the  celebrated  physician. 

"  The  nearest  place  would  be  best,  in  a  case  like 
this,"  Sir  Allan  remarked.  "  Have  you  sent  for  any 
help?" 

"  Some  of  my  men  are  coming  across  the  moor 
there,"  Mr.  Thurwell  said,  pointing  them  out. 
They  can  take  a  gate  off  the  hinges  to  carry  him 
on." 

A  little  troop  of  awed  servants,  whom  Lord  La- 
thon  had  sent  down  from  the  Court,  together  with 
some  farm  laborers  whom  they  had  picked  up  on 
the  way,  were  soon  on  the  spot. 

Mr.  Thurwell  gave  some  brief  directions,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  the  high  five-barred  gate,  with  "  pri- 
vate "  painted  across  it  in  white  letters,  was  taken 
from  its  hinges,  and  the  body  carefully  laid  upon  it. 
Then  Mr.  Thurwell  turned  resolutely  to  his  daugh- 
ter. 

"  Helen,  you  must  go  home  now,"  he  said  firmly. 
"  Jackson  will  take  you.  We  can  spare  him  easily." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  would  rather  stay,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I  shall 
not  faint,  or  do  anything  stupid,  I  promise  you." 

Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  looked  at  her  curiously. 
It  was  a  strange  thing  to  him,  notwithstanding  his 
wide  experience,  to  find  a  girl  of  her  years  so  little 
outwardly  moved  by  so  terrible  a  tragedy.  Mr. 
Thurwell,  too,  was  surprised.  He  knew  that  she 
had  never  loved  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,  but,  never- 


28  THE  NEW  TENANT 

theless,  he  had  expected  her  to  show  more  emotion 
than  this,  if  only  for  the  horror  of  it  all.  And  yet, 
looking  at  her  more  closely,  he  began  to  understand 
— to  realize  that  her  calmness  was  only  attained  by 
a  strenuous  repression  of  feeling,  and  that  under- 
neath it  all  was  something  very  different.  Though 
her  voice  was  firm,  her  cheeks  were  deadly  pale, 
and  there  was  a  peculiar  tightening  of  the  lips  and 
light  in  her  eyes  which  puzzled  him.  Her  expres- 
sion seemed  to  speak  less  of  passive  grief,  than  of 
some  active  determination — some  strong  desire.  She 
had  all  the  appearance  of  a  woman  who  was  bracing 
herself  up  for  some  ordeal,  nerving  herself  with  all 
the  stimulus  of  a  firm  will  to  triumph  over  her  nat- 
ural feelings,  and  follow  out  a  difficult  purpose. 
Mr.  Thurwell  scarcely  recognized  his  own  daughter. 
She  was  no  longer  a  somewhat  languid,  beautiful 
girl,  looking  out  upon  the  world  with  a  sort  of  petu- 
lant indifference — petulant,  because,  with  all  the 
high  aspirations  of  a  somewhat  romantic  disposition, 
she  could  see  nothing  in  it  to  interest  her.  All  that 
had  passed  away.  The  warm  breath  of  some  awak- 
ening force  in  her  nature  seemed  to  have  swept 
before  it  all  her  languor,  and  all  her  petulance. 
They  were  gone,  and  in  their  place  was  a  certain  air 
of  reserve  and  thoughtful  strength  which  seems  al- 
ways to  cling  to  those  men  and  women  who  face  the 
world  with  a  definite  purpose  before  them.  Mr. 
Thurwell  knitted  his  brows,  and  had  nothing  to  say. 
A  sad  little  procession  was  formed,  and  started 
slowly  for  the  cottage  on  the  cliff  side,  the  four  stal- 
wart men  stooping  beneath  their  heavy  burden,  and 
somehow  falling  into  the  measured  steady  tramp 
common  to  corpse  bearers.  None  of  them  ever  for- 
got that  walk.  Slowly  they  wound  their  way 
around  many  brilliant  patches  of  deep  yellow  gorse 


THE   NEW   TENANT  29 

and  purple  heather,  and  the  warm  sunlight  glancing 
across  the  moor  and  glittering  away  over  the  water 
threw  a  strange  glow  upon  the  still,  cold  face  of 
their  ghastly  burden.  A  soft  breeze  sprung  from 
the  sea,  herald  of  the  advancing  eventide,  following 
the  drowsy  languor  of  the  perfect  autumnal  day. 
The  faintly  stirred  air  was  full  of  its  quickening 
exhilaration,  but  it  found  no  human  response  in 
their  heavy  hearts.  Solemn  thoughts  and  silence 
came  over  all  of  them.  Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken 
on  the  way  to  their  destination. 

By  some  chance,  or  at  least  it  seemed  like  chance, 
Helen  found  herself  a  few  steps  behind  the  others, 
with  Mr.  Brown  by  her  side.  They,  too,  walked 
along  in  unbroken  silence.  His  eyes  were  steadily 
fixed  upon  the  ground,  hers  were  wandering  idly 
across  the  sparkling  blue  sea  with  its  foam-crested 
furrows  to  the  horizon.  Whatever  her  thoughts 
were,  they  had  changed  her  expression  for  the  time ; 
to  a  certain  extent  its  late  definiteness  was  gone, 
and  a  dreamy,  refined  abstraction  had  taken  its 
place. 

"  If  I  had  to  die,"  she  said,  half  to  herself,  "  I 
would  choose  to  die  on  such  a  day  as  this." 

He  raised  his  dark  eyes  and  looked  at  her. 

"Why?" 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  she  said  hesitatingly.  "  And 
yet,  in  my  own  mind,  I  do.  It  is  so  beautiful !  It 
seems  to  give  one  a  sense  of  peace  and  hope — I  can- 
not explain  it.  It  is  the  sort  of  thing  one  feels,  and 
feels  only." 

He  looked  down  again. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  You  would  fear  anni- 
hilation less  ?  " 

"  Annihilation !    Is  that  your  creed  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,  if  it  were  not  for  scenes  like  this,  I 


30  THE   NEW  TENANT 

might  believe  it  possible,"  he  answered  slowly. 
"  As  it  is,  I  do  not !  The  exquisite  beauty  of  the 
earth  denies  it !  I  pin  my  faith  to  a  great  analogy. 
The  natural  world  is  a  reflex  of  the  spiritual,  and  in 
the  natural  world  there  is  no  annihilation.  Nothing 
can  ever  die.  Nor  can  our  souls  ever  die." 

She  looked  at  him  keenly.  The  dreamy  specula- 
tion had  gone  from  her  eyes.  The  fire  of  her  former 
purpose  had  returned. 

"  It  is  well  to  feel  like  that.  You  would  rather  be 
Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,  then,  than  his  murderer, 
even  now  ?  " 

He  raised  his  hand  quickly  to  his  forehead,  as 
though  in  pain.  It  was  gone  in  an  instant,  but  she 
had  been  watching. 

"  Yes,  I  would,"  he  answered  fervently.  "  Sir 
Geoffrey  was  a  wicked  man,  but  he  may  have  re- 
pented. He  had  his  opportunities." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  was  wicked  ?  "  she 
asked  quickly. 

"  I  heard  of  him  abroad — many  years  ago.  Will 
you  excuse  me,  Miss  Thurwell.  I  must  hurry  on 
and  open  the  door  for  them." 

He  walked  swiftly  on,  leaving  her  alone.  When 
they  reached  their  destination,  he  was  there  waiting 
for  them. 

It  was  a  strangely  situated  and  strangely  built 
abode.  A  long  low  building  of  deep  yellow  stone, 
half  hidden  by  various  creepers,  and  inaccessible  on 
the  side  from  which  they  approached  it  save  to  foot 
passengers.  From  the  bottom  of  the  winding  path 
which  they  had  to  climb  it  seemed  to  hang  almost 
sheer  over  the  cliff  side.  A  thickly  growing  patch 
of  stunted  pine  trees  rising  abruptly  in  the  back- 
ground literally  overtopped  the  tiled  roof.  From 
the  summit  of  this  plantation  to  the  sea  was  one 


THE  NEW  TENANT  31 

abrupt  precipice,  thickly  overgrown  for  the  first  hun- 
dred feet  or  so  by  pine  trees  growing  out  from  the 
side  of  the  cliff  in  strange  huddled  fashion,  the 
haunt  of  sea  birds  and  a  few  daring  rabbits. 

They  passed  in  at  the  hand-gate,  and  toiled  up 
the  steep  path,  threading  their  way  among  a  wilder- 
ness of  overgrown  box  shrubs,  long  dank  grass  and 
strange  weeds.  Helen,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  an 
open  window  on  the  right  wing  of  the  cottage,  fell  a 
little  behind.  The  others  came  to  a  halt  before  the 
open  door. 

Mr.  Brown  met  them  and  preceded  them  along 
the  passage. 

"  I  think  he  had  better  be  carried  in  here,"  he 
said,  motioning  toward  the  room  on  the  left-hand 
side,  the  side  remote  from  the  sea.  "  I  have  brought 
a  sofa." 

They  stood  on  the  threshold  and  looked  in.  The 
room  was  absolutely  unfurnished,  and  the  shutters 
had  only  just  been  thrown  back,  letting  in  long 
level  gleams  of  sunlight,  which  fell  upon  the  bare 
floor  and  damp  walls,  from  which  the  discolored 
paper  was  commencing  to  peel  off.  Long  cobwebs 
hung  from  the  ceiling,  waving  slowly  backward  and 
forward  in  the  unaccustomed  draught.  Helen  Thur- 
well,  who  had  just  joined  the  little  group,  with  a 
curious  light  in  her  eyes,  and  a  deep  spot  of  color 
in  her  pale  cheeks,  looked  around  and  shivered.  Mr. 
Thurwell,  with  a  landlord's  instinct,  began  to  won- 
der who  was  at  fault,  his  agent  or  his  tenant. 

The  four  men  tramped  in,  their  footsteps  sound- 
ing dreary  and  mournful  on  the  uncarpeted  floor, 
and  awakening  strange  rumbling  echoes.  Helen 
looked  at  them  for  a  moment,  all  clustered  round 
the  single  sofa  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
apartment,  and  then  stepped  softly  back  again  into 


32  THE   NEW   TENANT 

the  hall.  She  looked  around  her  eagerly,  yet  with 
no  idle  curiosity. 

The  whole  interior  of  the  place  appeared  bare  and 
comfortless.  There  were  no  rugs  in  the  hall,  no 
carpet  on  the  stairs,  nor  a  single  sign  of  habitation. 
Nor  was  there  any  servant  about.  She  looked  again 
into  the  room  out  of  which  she  had  just  stepped. 
They  were  preparing  to  lift  the  body  from  the  gate, 
which  they  had  laid  upon  the  floor,  on  to  the  sofa. 
She  stepped  back  into  the  hall,  and  listened.  There 
was  no  sound  from  any  other  part  of  the  house. 
They  were  all  too  deeply  engrossed  to  think  of  her. 
It  was  her  chance ! 

She  was  very  pale,  and  very  resolute.  The  look 
which  had  come  into  her  face  for  so  short  a  time 
ago  had  had  its  meaning.  The  time  for  action  had 
come.  It  was  sooner  than  she  had  expected ;  but  she 
was  ready. 

With  swift  noiseless  step  she  crossed  the  hall  and 
softly  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  on  the  opposite 
side.  It  opened  at  once,  and  she  stepped  inside. 
She  listened  again.  As  yet  she  was  undetected. 
She  drew  a  little  breath  and  glanced  searchingly 
around  her. 

This  room,  too,  was  unfurnished,  save  that  the 
floor  was  covered  with  cases  full  of  books.  Straight 
in  front  of  her  was  another  door,  leading,  as  she 
knew,  into  a  smaller  apartment.  Dare  she  go  for- 
ward ?  She  listened  for  a  moment.  There  was  no 
sound  save  the  low  muffled  voices  of  the  men  who 
were  lifting  Sir  Geoffrey  on  to  the  couch.  Suppos- 
ing she  were  discovered  here?  At  the  most,  she 
would  be  suspected  of  a  vulgar  curiosity.  It  all 
flashed  through  her  mind  in  a  moment,  and  her  de- 
cision was  taken.  Gathering  her  skirts  in  her  hand 
lest  they  should  catch  against  the  edges  of  the  cases, 


THE   NEW   TENANT  33 

she  threaded  her  way  through  them,  and  stood  be- 
fore the  door  of  the  inner  room.  She  tried  the 
handle.  It  yielded  easily  to  her  touch.  She  had 
gone  too  far  to  draw  back  now.  In  a  moment  she 
had  passed  the  threshold,  and  the  whole  contents  of 
the  little  room  were  disclosed  to  her. 

Of  all  the  senses,  the  eyes  seem  to  carry  the  most 
lasting  impression  to  the  brain.  One  eager  glance 
around,  and  the  whole  seemed  photographed  into 
her  memory.  A  little  strip  of  faded  carpet  only  half 
covering  the  floor,  piles  upon  piles  of  books,  and  a 
small  table  littered  all  over  with  foolscap,  a  few  fine 
prints  and  etchings  roughly  hung  upon  the  walls,  a 
group  of  exquisite  statuettes  all  huddled  together, 
and  an  oak  cabinet  strongly  bound  with  brass  clasps 
— they  were  the  things  she  chiefly  remembered. 
The  whole  room  was  in  the  wildest  disorder,  as 
though  the  contents  had  been  just  shot  inside  and 
left  to  arrange  themselves. 

After  that  single  cursory  glance,  Helen  looked  no 
more  around  her.  Her  whole  attention  was  riveted 
upon  the  window  exactly  opposite.  As  she  had 
seen  from  the  outside,  it  was  wide  open,  and  several 
branches  of  a  shrub  growing  up  against  it  were 
broken  off.  From  the  leaves  of  the  same  shrub 
several  drops  of  water  were  hanging,  and  on  the 
ground  below  was  a  wet  patch.  She  looked  back  into 
the  room  again.  In  one  corner  was  an  empty  basin, 
and  by  its  side,  rolled  up  tightly,  was  a  rough  towel. 

Before  she  could  make  any  movement  in  that 
direction,  another  thing  struck  her.  On  a  certain 
spot  close  by  the  side  of  the  basin  a  pile  of  books 
was  arranged  in  disorderly  fashion  enough,  but 
with  some  little  method.  An  idea  flashed  in  upon 
her.  They  were  arranged  in  that  manner  to  hide 
something  upon  the  floor. 


34  THE   NEW   TENANT 

She  made  a  quick  motion  forward.  Then  she 
stopped  short,  and  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  door.  Her 
cheeks  burned,  and  her  heart  beat  fast.  Sir  Allan 
Beaumerville  was  standing  on  the  threshold,  looking 
at  her  in  mute  amazement,  and  over  his  shoulder 
was  the  pale  stern  face  of  Mr.  Brown. 


CHAPTER   VI 

A   TERRIBLE    ENEMY 

AFTERWARDS  Helen  looked  back  upon  those 
few  moments  as  the  most  uncomfortable  of  her  life. 
She  was  caught  in  the  very  act  of  a  most  unwar- 
rantable and  even  immodest  intrusion,  which  in  the 
eyes  of  these  two  mer  could  only  appear  like  the 
attempted  gratification  of  a  reprehensible  and  vulgar 
curiosity.  She  made  one  spasmodic  attempt  to  kin- 
dle her  suspicions  into  a  definite  accusation,  to  stand 
upon  her  dignity,  and  demand  an  explanation  of 
what  she  had  seen.  But  she  failed  utterly.  Directly 
she  tried  to  clothe  the  shreds  of  this  idea  of  hers 
with  words,  and  to  express  them,  she  seemed  to  viv- 
idly realize  the  almost  ludicrous  improbability  of  the 
whole  thing.  One  glance  into  the  pale,  dignified 
face  which  was  bent  upon  her  full  of  unconcerned 
surprise — and  hateful  to  her  with  a  gentle  shade  of 
pity  at  her  confusion  already  creeping  into  it — and 
her  attempt  collapsed.  She  felt  her  cheeks  burn 
with  shame,  and  her  eyes  drooped  before  his  steady 
gaze.  She  began  to  long  feverishly  for  something 
to  dissolve  the  situation.  The  silence  was  dreadful 
to  her,  but  she  could  think  of  nothing  to  say.  It  was 
Mr.  Brown,  at  last,  who  spoke. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  not  be  able  to  find  your 
way,  Miss  Thurwell,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  must 
apologize  for  asking  you  to  come  into  such  a  den. 
The  small  engraving  on  the  wall  is  the  proof  '  Bar- 

35 


36  THE  NEW  TENANT 

tolozzi '  I  spoke  to  you  about.  The  head  is  perfect, 
is  it  not?  Some  day  I  should  like  to  show  you  my 
*  Guido.'  I  am  afraid,  just  now,  I  could  not  expect 
you  to  appreciate  them." 

She  murmured  something — what,  she  scarcely 
knew,  and  he  did  not  appear  to  hear.  The  cold  sur- 
prise disappeared  from  Sir  Allan's  face.  Evidently 
he  believed  in  Mr.  Brown's  mercifully  offered  ex- 
planation of  her  presence  here. 

"  What !  are  you  an  enthusiast,  Miss  Thurwell  ?  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  Well,  well,  I  was  worse  myself 
once  in  my  younger  days,  before  my  profession 
made  a  slave  of  me.  Surely,  that  is  a  genuine 
'  Velasquez/  Mr.  Brown.  Upon  my  word !  Fancy 
coming  across  such  a  treasure  here !  " 

He  picked  his  way  across  the  disorderly  chamber, 
and,  adjusting  his  eyeglass,  stood  looking  at  the 
picture.  Helen  made  a  hasty  movement  towards 
the  door,  and  Mr.  Brown  followed  her  into  the  ad- 
joining room. 

"  If  I  had  known  that  I  was  to  be  honored  by 
a  visit  from  a  lady,"  he  said,  "  I  would  have  en- 
deavored  " 

She  turned  suddenly  round  upon  him  with  flam- 
ing cheeks. 

"  Don't,"  she  interrupted,  almost  beseechingly. 
"  Mr.  Brown,  you  were  very  good  to  me  just  then. 
Thank  you!  I  was  most  abominably  rude  to  go 
into  that  room  without  your  permission." 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  floor,  and  her  dis- 
tress was  evident.  It  was  clear  that  she  felt  her 
position  acutely. 

"  Pray  say  no  more  about  it,"  he  begged  earn- 
estly. "  It  isn't  worth  a  second  thought." 

She  stopped  with  her  back  to  one  of  the  great 
cases  filled  with  books,  and  hesitated.  Should  she 


THE  NEW   TENANT  37 

confess  to  him  frankly  why  she  had  gone  there, 
and  ask  his  pardon  for  such  a  wild  thought?  She 
raised  her  eyes  slowly,  and  looked  at  him.  Of 
course  it  was  absurd.  She  has  been  out  of  her  mind, 
she  knew  that  now ;  and  yet 

She  looked  at  him  more  closely  still.  He  had  not 
seemed  in  any  way  disturbed  when  they  had  found 
her  in  that  room — only  a  little  surprised  and  be- 
wildered. And  yet,  after  all,  supposing  his  com- 
posed demeanor  had  been  only  assumed.  He  was 
certainly  very  pale,  very  pale  indeed,  and  there  was 
a  slight  twitching  of  his  hands  which  was  out  of 
character  with  his  absolute  impassiveness.  Suppos- 
ing it  should  be  a  forced  composure.  He  looked 
like  a  man  capable  of  exercising  a  strong  control 
over  his  feelings.  Supposing  it  should  be  so.  Was 
there  not,  after  all,  just  a  chance  that  her  former 
suspicions  were  correct? 

The  action  of  the  mind  is  instantaneous.  All 
these  thoughts  and  doubts  merely  flashed  through 
it,  and  they  left  her  very  confused  and  undecided. 
Her  sense  of  gratitude  towards  him  for  shielding 
her  before  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville,  and  the  intuitive 
sympathy  of  her  nature  with  the  delicacy  and  tact 
which  he  had  shown  in  his  manner  of  doing  so,  were 
on  the  whole  stronger  than  her  shadowy  suspicions. 
And  yet  these  latter  had  just  sufficient  strength  to 
check  the  impulse  of  generosity  which  prompted  her 
to  confess  everything  to  him.  She  did  not  tell  him 
why  she  had  started  on  the  quest  which  had  come  to 
such  an  ignominious  conclusion.  She  offered  him 
no  explanation  whatever. 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you,"  she  repeated.  "  I 
did  not  deserve  it  at  all.  And  now  I  must  go  and 
look  for  my  father." 

Mr.  Thurwell  was  waiting  in  the  hall,  somewhat 


38  THE  NEW  TENANT 

surprised  at  her  absence.  But  he  asked  no  ques- 
tions. His  thoughts  were  too  full  of  the  terrible 
thing  which  had  happened  to  his  friend  and  neigh- 
bor— and  withal  his  daughter's  betrothed. 

They  walked  back  across  the  moor  together,  say- 
ing very  little,  for  there  was  only  one  possible  sub- 
ject for  conversation,  and  both  of  them  shrank  a 
little  from  speaking  about  it.  But  when  they  were 
more  than  half-way  to  their  destination,  she  asked 
a  question. 

"  Nothing  has  been  discovered,  I  suppose,  of  the 
murderer  ?  " 

Her  father  shook  his  head. 

"  Nothing.  The  dagger  is  our  only  clue  as  yet — 
except  this." 

He  drew  a  folded  piece  of  paper  from  his  pocket, 
and  touched  it  lightly  with  his  finger. 

"What  is  it?    May  I  see?" 

He  handed  it  to  her  at  once. 

"  It  was  in  his  pocket,"  he  said.  "  I  am  keeping 
it  to  hand  over  to  the  proper  authorities.  Mr. 
Brown  offered  to  take  care  of  it,  but  I  felt  that,  as  a 
magistrate,  I  was  in  a  measure  responsible  for 
everything  in  the  shape  of  a  clue,  so  I  brought  it 
away  with  me.  Read  it." 

She  opened  the  half  sheet  of  note-paper  and 
glanced  down  it.  It  was  written  in  a  queer  cramped 
handwriting — evidently  disguised. 

"  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,  you  are  doing  a  very 
rash  and  foolish  thing  in  coming  back  to  your  own 
country,  and  thereby  publishing  your  whereabouts 
to  the  world.  Have  you  forgotten  what  hangs  over 
you— or  can  you  be  so  mad  as  to  think  that  he  has 
forgiven?  Read  this  as  a  warning;  and  if  life  is  in 
any  way  dear  to  you,  go  back  to  that  hiding  which 
alone  has  kept  you  safe  for  so  many  years.  Do  not 


THE  NEW  TENANT  39 

hesitate  or  delay  for  one  half-hour — one  minute 
may  be  too  long.  If,  after  reading  this,  you  linger 
in  England,  and  disregard  my  warning,  take  care 
that  you  look  into  your  life  and  hold  yourself  pre- 
pared to  die." 

She  gave  it  back  to  him.  There  was  some  one, 
then,  whom  he  had  injured  very  deeply.  It  was  like 
an  echo  from  that  stormy  past  of  which  many  peo- 
ple had  spoken. 

"  He  had  an  enemy,"  she  murmured,  passing  her 
arm  through  her  father's. 

"  It  seems  so,"  he  answered.  "  A  terrible  enemy." 


CHAPTER   VII 
HELEN  THURWELL'S  SUSPICIONS 

ON  a  certain  September  day,  about  six  weeks 
after  the  funeral  of  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,  Mr. 
Brown  was  spending  what  appeared  to  be  a  very 
pleasant  afternoon.  He  was  lying  stretched  out  at 
full  length  on  a  dry  mossy  bank,  with  a  volume  of 
Shelley  in  his  hand,  and  a  case  of  thick  Egyptian 
cigarettes  by  his  side.  In  his  ears  was  the  whisper- 
ing of  the  faint  breeze  amongst  the  pines,  and  the 
soft  murmuring  of  the  sea,  hundreds  of  feet  below, 
seen  like  a  brilliant  piece  of  patchwork  through  the 
fluttering  leaves  and  dark  tree-trunks  which  sur- 
rounded him.  There  was  nothing  to  disturb  the 
sweet  silence  of  the  drowsy  afternoon.  It  was  a 
charming  spot  which  he  had  chosen,  and  he  was 
quite  alone.  People,  amongst  whom  for  the  last 
few  weeks  his  name  had  become  a  fruitful  source  of 
conversation,  were  already  beginning  to  fancy  him 
flying  across  the  country  in  an  express  train,  or 
loitering  on  the  docks  at  Liverpool,  waiting  for  an 
Atlantic  liner,  or  sitting  at  home  trembling  and 
fearful,  struggling  to  hide  his  guilt  beneath  a  calm 
exterior.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  doing 
none  of  these  things.  The  harsh  excitement  of  the 
busy  gossips,  and  their  stern  judgment,  troubled 
him  nothing,  for  he  was  unconscious  of  them.  He 
was  away  in  thoughtland,  dreaming  of  a  fair,  proud 
young  face  seen  first  on  the  rude  pavement  of  an 

40 


THE  NEW  TENANT  41 

old  Italian  town,  where  its  sweet  composed  fresh- 
ness, amongst  a  pile  of  magnificent  ruins,  had  cap- 
tivated his  artist's  sense  almost  before  it  had  touched 
his  man's  heart.  He  thought  of  the  narrow  street 
shutting  in  the  sky  till,  looking  upwards,  it  seemed 
like  one  deep  band  of  glorious  blue — of  the  ruined 
grey  palace,  with  still  some  traces  left  of  its  former 
stately  grace,  and  of  the  fountain  playing  in  the 
moss-encrusted  courtyard,  gleaming  like  silver  in 
the  sunlight  as  it  rose  and  fell  into  the  worn  stone 
basin.  Here,  where  the  very  air  seemed  full  of  the 
records  of  a  magnificent  decay,  everything  seemed 
to  form  a  fitting  framework  in  his  memory  for  that 
one  face.  It  had  been  an  artist's  dream — or  had  it 
been  the  man's?  Never  the  latter;  he  told  himself 
sadly.  Such  were  not  for  him.  It  had  been  better 
far  that  he  had  never  seen  her  again.  Before,  the 
memory  had  been  a  very  sweet  one,  stored  away  in 
his  mind  amongst  all  the  great  and  beautiful  things 
he  had  seen  in  his  wanderings,  always  with  a  dainty 
freshness  clinging  to  it,  as  though  it  had  lain  care- 
fully preserved  in  perfume  and  spices.  Was  this 
new  joy,  of  having  seen  and  spoken  to  her,  a  better 
thing?  this  vague  unsettlement  of  his  being,  which 
played  havoc  with  his  thoughts,  and  stirred  up  a 
whole  host  of  strange  new  feelings  in  his  heart? 
Surely  not !  It  seemed  to  him  like  the  breathing  of 
warm  new  life  into  what  had  been  a  cyrstallized 
emotion — the  humanizing  of  something  spiritual. 
Surely,  for  him,  it  had  better  have  remained  in  that 
first  stage. 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  light  footstep  on  the 
springy  turf.  He  started  to  his  feet.  A  girl,  tali 
and  slim,  was  coming  swiftly  along  the  winding 
path  through  the  plantation  towards  him.  He  knew 
at  once  that  it  was  Helen  Thurwell. 


42  THE  NEW  TENANT 

They  were  both  equally  surprised.  As  she  looked 
up  and  saw  him  standing  upright  in  the  narrow 
path,  tall,  thin,  and  unnaturally  pale,  with  the  cigar- 
ette still  burning  between  his  fingers,  and  his  book 
in  his  other  hand,  she  felt  strangely  stirred.  Neither 
was  he  unmoved  by  her  sudden  appearance,  for 
though  not  a  feature  twitched,  not  a  single  gleam 
of  color  relieved  the  still  pallor  of  his  face,  there 
was  a  new  light  in  his  dry  brilliant  eyes.  But  there 
was  a  vast  difference  between  the  thoughts  which 
flashed  into  his  mind  and  those  which  filled  hers. 
To  him  there  had  stolen  a  sweetness  into  the  sum- 
mer's day  surpassing  the  soft  sunlight,  and  a  pres- 
ence which  moved  every  pulse  in  his  being,  and 
crept  like  maddening  fire  through  every  sense.  And 
to  her,  the  sight  of  him  was  simply  a  signal  to  brace 
up  all  her  powers  of  perception ;  to  watch  with  sus- 
picion every  change  of  his  features,  and  every  tone 
of  his  voice.  Had  he  shown  any  emotion  at  the 
sight  of  her,  she  would  have  attributed  it  to  a  guilty 
conscience,  and  would  have  made  note  of  it  in  her 
mind  against  him.  And  as  he  showed  none — none, 
at  least,  that  she  could  detect — she  put  it  down  to 
the  exercise  of  a  strong  will,  and  was  a  little  dis- 
appointed. For  she  had  gone  with  the  tide,  and, 
womanlike,  having  embraced  an  idea,  it  had  already 
become  as  truth  to  her.  Mr.  Brown  was  the  man 
who  had  murdered  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston.  It  was 
a  murderer  with  whom  she  was  standing  side  by 
side  among  the  glancing  shadows  of  the  rustling 
pine  groves.  It  must  be  so! 

Yet  she  did  not  shrink  from  him.  After  her  first 
hesitation  at  the  sight  of  a  man's  figure  standing  up 
amongst  the  dark  tree-trunks,  she  had  walked  stead- 
ily on  until  she  had  reached  him.  And  he,  without 
any  change  of  countenance,  had  simply  stood  and 


THE   NEW  TENANT  43 

watched  her.  God!  how  beautiful  she  was!  The 
sunlight,  gleaming  through  the  tops  of  the  trees  in 
long  slanting  rays,  played  like  fire  upon  her  red-gold 
hair ;  and  the  plain  black  gown,  which  yielded  easily 
to  her  graceful  movements,  seemed  to  show  every 
line  of  her  supple  yet  delicate  figure.  She  came 
nearer  still,  so  near  that  he  could  trace  the  faint 
blue  veins  in  her  forehead,  and  once  more  recall  the 
peculiar  color  of  her  eyes.  Then  he  spoke  to  her, 
raising  his  hand  with  a  suddenly  returning  instinct 
of  conventionality  for  his  cap;  but  he  had  risen 
without  it,  and  was  standing  before  her  bare-headed. 

"  I  am  a  trespasser,  I  fear,"  he  said  hesitatingly. 

She  came  to  a  standstill  by  his  side,  and  shook  her 
head  slowly. 

"  No,  this  is  common  land.  There  is  a  footpath, 
you  see,  although  it  is  seldom  used.  It  leads  no- 
where but  to  the  Court." 

"  It  is  a  favorite  walk  of  mine,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  it  is  pleasant.  You  bring  a  companion 
with  you,"  she  remarked,  pointing  to  his  book. 

He  glanced  down  at  it,  and  then  up  at  her  again. 

"  Yes ;  a  faithful  friend,  too.  We  spend  a  good 
deal  of  time  out  of  doors  together." 

She  read  the  title,  and  glanced  up  at  him  with  a 
shade  of  interest  in  her  face. 

"  Shelley  was  a  great  poet,  I  suppose,"  she  said  ; 
"  but  I  do  not  understand  him." 

For  the  first  time  his  expression  changed.  A 
sudden  light  swept  across  his  face,  and  in  a  moment 
it  was  glowing  with  sensibility  and  enthusiasm. 
She  looked  at  him  astonished.  He  stood  before  her 
revealed  in  a  new  light,  and,  although  unwillingly, 
she  saw  him  with  different  eyes. 

"  Not  understand  Shelley !  Ah !  but  that  is  be- 
cause you  have  not  tried,  then.  If  you  had,  you 


44  THE   NEW  TENANT 

would  not  only  understand,  but  you  would  love 
him." 

She  shook  her  head.  In  reality  she  felt  that  he 
was  right,  that  her  languid  attempts  to  read  him  by 
a  drawing-room  fire,  with  the  Queen  beside  her, 
and  her  mind  very  full  of  very  little  things,  had  not 
been  the  spirit  in  which  to  approach  a  great  poet. 
But,  partly  out  of  womanly  perversity,  and  partly 
out  of  curiosity  to  hear  what  he  would  say,  she 
chose  to  dissent  from  him. 

"  I  find  him  too  mystical,"  she  said ;  "  too  incom- 
prehensible." 

He  looked  down  at  her  from  his  superior  height 
with  kindling  eyes.  It  was  odd  how  greatly  she 
was  surprised  in  him.  She  had  imagined  him  to 
be  a  cynic. 

"  Mystical !  "  he  repeated.  "  Yes,  in  a  certain 
sense,  he  is  so;  and  it  is  his  greatest  charm.  But 
incomprehensible! — no.  The  essence  of  all  artistic 
poetry  is  in  the  perfect  blending  of  matter  and  form, 
so  that  the  meaning  creeps  in  upon  us,  but  with  a 
certain  vagueness,  a  certain  indefiniteness,  which 
reaches  us  more  in  the  shade  of  a  dreamy  conscious- 
ness than  through  the  understanding.  May  I  give 
you  an  illustration?  We  stand  upon  a  low  plain 
and  gaze  upon  a  far-off  range  of  hills,  from  the 
sides  of  which  thick  clouds  of  white  mist  are  hang- 
ing. Gradually,  as  the  sun  rises  higher  in  the  heav- 
ens, they  float  away,  and  we  begin  dimly  to  see 
through  a  clearer  atmosphere  the  yellow  corn  wav- 
ing on  the  brown  hillside,  the  smoke  rising  from 
the  lonely  farmhouse,  and,  if  we  have  patience  and 
wait  still,  by-and-by  we  can  even  distinguish  the 
brilliant  patches  of  wild  flowers,  the  poppies  and  the 
cornflowers  in  the  golden  fields,  and  the  marsh 
marigolds  in  the  meadows  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  It 


THE   NEW   TENANT  45 

is  a  question  of  waiting  long  enough.  So  it  is  with 
what  people  call  mysticism  in  poetry." 

For  the  first  time  for  many  months  a  faint  color 
had  found  its  way  into  his  wan  cheeks.  His  face 
was  alight  with  interest,  and  his  dark  eyes  shone 
from  their  deep  hollows  with  a  new,  soft  fire.  From 
that  moment  he  assumed  a  new  place  in  her 
thoughts.  She  was  loath  to  grant  it  to  him,  but  she 
had  no  alternative.  Guilty  or  innocent,  this  man 
had  something  in  him  which  placed  him  high  above 
other  men  in  her  estimation.  She  felt  stirred  in  a 
manner  peculiarly  grateful  to  her.  It  was  as  though 
every  chord  of  her  being  had  been  tuned  into  fresh 
harmony;  as  though  the  hand  of  a  magician  had 
lifted  the  curtain  which  had  enclosed  her  too  nar- 
row life,  and  had  shown  her  a  new  world  glowing 
with  beauty  and  promise.  She,  too,  wanted  to  feel 
like  that;  to  taste  the  pleasures  which  this  man 
tasted,  and  to  feel  the  enthusiasm  which  had  lit  up 
his  pale  scholarly  face. 

At  that  moment  her  mind  was  too  full  to  harbor 
those  dark  suspicions.  With  a  sudden  effort  she 
threw  them  overboard,  trampled  on  them,  scouted 
them.  Was  this  the  face  and  the  tongue  of  a  mur- 
derer ?  Surely  not ! 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  softly.  "  I  shall  like  to 
think  over  what  you  have  said.  Now  I  must  go." 

Her  words  seemed  to  bring  him  back  to  his  old 
self.  He  stooped  down  and  picked  up.  his  cap. 

"  You  are  going  back  to  the  Court  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Let  me  walk  to  the  end  of  the  plantation  with 
you." 

She  assented  silently,  and  they  turned  along  the 
narrow  path  side  by  side.  Below  them  a  bracken- 
covered  cliff,  studded  with  dwarfed  trees,  ran  down 
to  the  sea;  and  on  their  left  hand  the  black  firs, 


46  THE   NEW  TENANT 

larger  and  growing  more  thickly  together,  shut  out 
completely  the  open  moorland  beyond.  He  had 
walked  there  before  beneath  a  sky  of  darker  blue, 
and  when  there  had  been  only  stray  gleams  of  moon- 
light shining  through  the  cone-laden  boughs  to  show 
him  the  rough  path;  and  he  had  been  there  when 
the  tree-tops  had  bent  beneath  the  shrieking  wind, 
when  the  black  clouds  had  been  flying  over  his 
head,  and  the  roar  of  the  angry  sea  had  filled  the 
air  with  thunder.  And  these  things  had  stirred  him 
— one  of  nature's  sons — in  many  ways.  Yet  none 
of  them  had  sent  the  warm  blood  coursing  through 
his  veins  like  quicksilver,  or  had  stolen  through  his 
senses  with  such  sweet  heart-stirring  impetuosity  as 
did  the  presence  of  this  tall,  fair  girl,  walking  se- 
renely by  his  side  in  thoughtful  silence.  Once,  when 
too  near  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  she  put  her  foot  on  a 
fir-cone  and  stumbled,  and  the  touch  of  her  hand,  as 
he  caught  hold  of  it  to  steady  her,  sent  a  thrill  of 
keen,  exquisite  pleasure  through  his  whole  frame. 
He  held  it  perhaps  a  little  longer  than  necessary, 
and  she  let  him.  For  the  moment  she  had  lost  the 
sense  of  physical  touch,  and  the  firm  grasp  of  his 
fingers  upon  hers  seemed  to  her,  in  a  certain  sense, 
only  an  analogy  to  the  sudden  sympathy  which  had 
sprung  up  between  them.  Even  when  realization 
came,  she  drew  her  hand  away  gently,  without  an- 
ger, without  undue  haste  even.  One  glance  into 
his  face  at  that  moment  would  have  told  her  every- 
thing ;  the  whole  horror  of  the  situation  would  have 
flashed  in  upon  her,  and  she  would  have  been  over- 
whelmed. But  she  did  not  look,  and  long  before 
they  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  path  the  passionate 
light  had  died  out  from  his  eyes,  and  had  left  no 
trace  behind.  Once  more  he  was  only  a  plain,  sad- 
looking  man,  hollow-eyed  and  hollow-cheeked,  with 
bent  head  and  stooping  frame. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

DID   YOU    KILL    SIR    GEOFFREY    KYNASTON  ? 

AT  the  extremity  of  the  plantation  they  came  to 
a  small  wicket-gate  opening  out  on  to  the  cliff  top. 
From  here  there  was  a  path  inland  to  the  Court, 
whilst  Falcon's  Nest  was  straight  in  front  of  them. 
At  the  parting  of  the  ways  they  hesitated,  for  it 
seemed  necessary  that  they  should  part. 

And  whilst  they  looked  around  a  little  dazzled, 
having  just  emerged  from  the  darkness  of  the  plan- 
tation, they  were  conscious  of  a  new  glory  in  the 
heavens.  Far  away  across  the  moorland  the  autumn 
sun  had  shot  its  last  rays  over  the  level  plain  and 
sea,  and  had  sunk  quietly  to  rest.  It  was  not  one 
of  Turner's  wild  sunsets.  There  were  no  banks  of 
angry  clouds  full  of  lurid  coloring,  flashing  their 
glory  all  over  the  western  sky.  But  in  a  different 
fashion  it  was  equally  beautiful.  Long  level  streaks 
of  transparent  light,  emerging  from  an  ethereal 
green  to  a  deep  orange,  lay  stretched  across  the 
heavens,  and  a  faint  golden  haze  rising  from  the 
land  seemed  to  mingle  with  them,  and  form  one 
harmonious  mass  of  coloring.  And  the  air  too  was 
different — purer  and  rarer  than  the  enervating  at- 
mosphere of  the  drowsy  afternoon.  Together  they 
stood  and  became  subject  to  the  subtle  charm  of 
their  environment.  It  seemed  to  Helen  Thurwell 
then  that  a  change  was  creeping  into  her  life.  Im- 
personal thought  had  attained  a  new  strength  and  a 

47 


48  THE   NEW   TENANT 

new  sweetness.  But  at  that  time  she  had  no  knowl- 
edge of  what  it  meant. 

"  See ! "  he  exclaimed  softly,  pointly  westward, 
"  there  is  what  Coleridge  made  dear  to  us  for  ever, 
and  Byron  vainly  scoffed  at — the  '  green  light  that 
lingers  in  the  west.'  * 

He  repeated  the  stanza  absently,  and  half  to  him- 
self, with  a  sudden  oblivion  of  her  presence — 

"  It  were  a  vain  endeavor, 
Though  I  should  gaze  for  ever 
On  that  green  light  that  lingers  in  the  west. 
I  may  not  hope  from  outward  forms  to  win 
The  passion  and  the  life  whose  fountains  are  within." 

She  watched  him  as  his  voice  sank  lower  and 
lower,  and  though  his  eyes  were  dry  and  bright,  she 
saw  a  look  of  intense  sadness  sweep  across  his  face. 
Almost  she  felt  inclined  to  let  her  natural  sympathy 
escape  her — to  let  loose  the  kind  and  tender  words 
which  had  leapt  up  from  her  heart,  and  even  trem- 
bled upon  her  lips.  But  a  rush  of  consciousness 
came,  and  she  choked  them  back.  Thus  much  she 
could  do,  but  no  more.  She  could  not  at  that  mo- 
ment look  upon  him  as  the  man  already  suspected  in 
many  quarters  of  a  most  brutal  murder.  For  the 
instant,  all  was  blotted  out.  Had  she  tried  she  could 
not  at  that  moment  have  revived  her  own  suspicions. 
They  seemed  to  her  like  some  grotesque  fungi  of 
the  mind — poisonous  weeds  to  be  crushed  and  de- 
stroyed. But  the  seed  was  there. 

"  Those  are  the  saddest  lines  I  ever  read,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  It  is  a  true  ode  to  dejection." 

"  And  therefore  they  are  very  precious,"  he  an- 
swered. "  It  is  always  sweet  to  find  your  own  emo- 


THE   NEW   TENANT  49 

tions  so  exquisitely  expressed.  It  is  like  a  spiritual 
narcotic." 

"  And  yet — yet  such  poems  encourage  sadness, 
and  that  is  morbid." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  To  be  sad  is  not  necessarily  to  be  unhappy,"  he 
answered.  "  That  sounds  like  a  paradox,  but  it 
isn't !  You  remember  the  '  gentle  melancholy ' 
which  Milton  loved.  There  is  something  sweet  in 
that,  is  there  not?" 

"  But  it  is  not  like  that  with  you,"  she  said 
quickly. 

He  threw  his  arms  up  into  the  air  with  a  sudden 
wild  gesture  of  absolute  despair.  She  had  touched  a 
chord  in  his  nature  too  roughly,  and  it  had  not  stood 
the  strain.  For  a  moment  he  had  thrown  off  his 
mask.  His  white  face  was  ghastly,  and  his  eyes 
were  burning  with  a  hopeless  passion. 

"  My  God !  No !  "  he  cried.  "  I  am  in  the  depths 
of  hell,  with  never  a  gleam  of  hope  to  lead  me  on. 
And  the  sin — the  sin " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  and  his  hands  fell  to  his 
side.  Slowly  he  turned  round  and  looked  at  her, 
half  doubtfully,  half  fearfully.  What  had  he  said? 
What  had  she  heard  ?  What  did  that  look  in  her 
face  mean — that  look  of  anguish,  of  fear,  of  horror? 
Why  did  she  not  speak,  even  though  it  were  to  ac- 
cuse him  ?  Anything  rather  than  that  awful  silence. 

Twice  she  moved  her  white  lips,  but  no  sound 
came.  The  power  of  articulation  seemed  gone. 
Then  she  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  turned  him 
slowly  round  so  that  he  faced  his  cottage.  Only  a 
few  yards  below  them  was  the  spot  where  she  and 
her  sister-in-law  that  was  to  have  been  had  lolled  in 
their  low  chairs  by  the  luncheon-table,  and  had  be- 
gun to  feel  impatient  for  the  coming  of  one  who  had 


50  THE   NEW  TENANT 

never  come.  Further  away  still,  across  the  moor, 
was  that  dark  circular  patch  of  plantation  behind 
which  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  had  been  found,  and 
away  upon  the  cliffs  overlooking  the  scene  of  the 
murder  was  Falcon's  Nest. 

The  grasp  on  his  arm  tightened.  Then  she 
stretched  out  her  other  hand,  and  with  shaking  fin- 
gers pointed  downwards — pointed  to  the  very  spot 
where  the  deed  had  been  done.  The  memory  of  it 
all  came  back  to  her,  and  hardened  her  set  white 
face.  She  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes  without  a 
quiver,  and  clenched  her  teeth. 

"  Did  you — do  that  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  firm,  hard 
tone. 

A  curious  mind  slumber  seemed  to  have  crept 
over  him.  His  eyes  followed  her  outstretched  hand, 
and  his  lips  idly  repeated  her  words. 

"  Did  you  kill  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  ?  " 

Her  words  fell  sharp  and  clear  upon  the  still  air. 
A  tremor  passed  through  his  whole  frame,  and  the 
light  of  a  sudden  understanding  flashed  across  his 
face.  He  was  his  old  self  again,  and  more  than  his 
old  self. 

"You  are  joking,  of -course,  Miss  Thurwell?" 
he  said  quietly.  "  You  do  not  mean  that 
seriously  ?  " 

She  caught  her  breath,  and  looked  at  him.  After 
all,  it  is  only  a  step  from  tragedy  to  commonplace. 
He  was  deathly  pale,  but  calm  and  composed.  He 
had  conquered  himself  just  in  time.  Another  mo- 
ment, and  she  felt  assured  that  she  would  have 
known  all.  Never  mind!  it  should  come,  she  told 
herself.  The  end  was  not  yet. 

"  No;  of  course  I  did  not  mean  it  seriously,"  she 
repeated  slowly.  "  Who  are  those  men  coming  up 
the  hill  ?  Can  you  see  ?  " 


THE  NEW  TENANT  51 

He  moved  a  little  nearer  to  her,  and  looked  down- 
ward. On  the  slope  of  the  hill  were  three  men.  She 
had  recognized  them  already,  and  she  watched  him 
steadily. 

"  Your  father  is  one,"  he  said  quietly.  "  The 
other  two  are  strangers  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  tell  you  something  about  them," 
she  said,  still  watching  him  intently.  "  One  is  the 
constable  from  Mallory,  and  the  other  is  a  detect- 
ive." 

There  was  a  slight  hardening  of  his  face,  and  she 
fancied  that  she  saw  his  under  lip  quiver  for  a  mo- 
ment. Had  he  shown  any  guilty  fear,  had  he 
shrunk  back,  or  uttered  a  single  moan,  her  sympa- 
thy would  never  have  been  aroused.  But  as  it  was, 
she  was  a  woman,  and  her  face  softened,  and  the 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  There  was  something 
almost  grand  in  the  composure  with  which  he  was 
waiting  for  what  seemed  inevitable — something  of 
the  magnificent  resignation  with  which  the  noble- 
men of  France  one  by  one  took  their  place  at  the 
block,  and  the  simile  was  heightened  by  the  slightly 
contemptuous,  slightly  defiant  poise  of  his  finely 
shaped  head.  She  saw  him  cast  one  lingering  glance 
around  at  the  still  sea,  with  its  far-off  motionless 
sails;  at  the  clear  sky,  from  which  the  brilliancy  of 
coloring  was  fading  away,  and  at  the  long  sweep  of 
moorland  with  its  brilliant  patches  of  heather  and 
gorse,  now  slightly  blurred  by  the  mists  rising  from 
the  earth.  It  was  as  though  he  were  saying  a  last 
farewell  to  things  which  he  had  loved,  and  which 
he  would  see  no  more — and  it  had  a  strange  effect 
upon  her.  The  memory  of  that  hideous  crime  left 
her.  She  could  think  only  of  the  abstract  pathos  of 
the  present  situation,  and  she  felt  very  miserable.  It 
was  wrong,  unnatural  of  her;  but  at  that  moment, 


52  THE  NEW  TENANT 

if  she  could  have  helped  him  to  escape,  she  would 
have  done  her  best  in  the  face  of  them  all. 

They  were  almost  at  hand  now,  and  she  lifted  her 
eyes,  in  which  the  tears  were  fast  gathering.  She 
thought  nothing  of  her  own  situation — of  their 
finding  her  alone  with  the  murderer.  With  charac- 
teristic unselfishness  she  thought  only  of  him. 

She  met  her  father's  surprised  gaze  with  indiffer- 
ence. She  had  a  sort  of  feeling  that  nothing  mat- 
tered much.  What  was  going  to  happen  eclipsed 
everything  else. 

And  so  it  did.  Her  apathy  changed  in  a  moment 
to  amazement,  and  her  heart  stood  still.  Her  father 
had  raised  his  hat  to  Mr.  Brown  with  even  more 
than  the  usual  courtesy  of  his  salute,  and  the  two 
officials  had  saluted  in  the  most  correct  fashion. 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  he  said,  "  we  have  all  come  in 
search  of  you  to  tender  our  most  sincere  apologies 
for  an  unfortunate  mistake.  Police  Constable  Chop- 
ping here  is  mostly  to  blame,  and  next  to  him,  I 
am." 

She  glanced  at  the  man  by  her  side.  His  face 
was  absolutely  impenetrable.  It  showed  no  signs  of 
the  relief  which  was  creeping  into  hers.  His  com- 
posure was  simply  wonderful. 

"  The  fact  is,"  her  father  continued,  "  Chopping 
came  to  see  me  with  a  long  tale  and  a  certain  re- 
quest which,  under  the  circumstances — which  I  will 
explain  to  you  afterwards — I  could  not  as  a  magis- 
trate refuse.  I  was  compelled  to  sign  a  search  war- 
rant for  him  to  go  over  Falcon's  Nest.  It  was 
against  my  inclination,  and  a  most  unpleasant  duty 
for  me  to  perform.  But  I  considered  it  my  duty, 
and  I  attended  there  myself  in  order  that  it  might 
not  be  abused.  I  hope  to  have  your  forgiveness  for 
the  liberty  which  we  were  compelled  to  take." 


THE   NEW   TENANT  53 

There  was  still  no  change  in  Mr.  Brown's  face, 
but,  standing  close  to  him,  she  heard  him  take  a 
quick  deep  breath.  Curiously  enough,  it  was  a 
relief  to  her  to  hear  it.  Such  great  self-restraint 
was  almost  unnatural. 

"  You  only  did  your  duty,  Mr.  Thurwell,"  he 
answered  quietly.  "  You  owe  me  no  apology." 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  see  it  in  that  light,"  Mr. 
Thurwell  said,  "  very  glad  indeed.  But  I  have  a 
further  confession  to  make." 

He  drew  Mr.  Brown  a  little  on  one  side,  out  of 
hearing  of  the  others,  but  nearer  to  her  than  any  of 
them,  and  commenced  talking  earnestly  to  him. 
This  time  she  could  tell  that  he  was  disturbed  and 
uneasy,  but  she  could  not  follow  connectedly  all 
her  father  said.  Only  a  few  stray  words  reached 
her. 

"  Very  sorry  indeed.  .  .  .  Quite  accidental.  .  .  . 
Will  preserve  .  .  .  discovery." 

"  Then  I  may  rely  upon  you  to  keep  this  abso- 
lutely to  yourself  ? "  she  heard  Mr.  Brown  say 
earnestly. 

"  I  give  you  my  word,  sir !  "  her  father  answered. 
Then  they  turned  round,  and  she  saw  that  Mr. 
Brown  looked  distinctly  annoyed. 

"However  did  you  come  here,  Helen?"  her 
father  asked,  suddenly  remembering  her  presence. 

"  I  came  for  a  walk,  and  met  Mr.  Brown  in  the 
plantation,"  she  explained. 

"  Well,  since  you  are  here,"  he  remarked  good 
humoredly,  "  you  must  help  me  to  induce  Mr. 
Brown  to  come  back  to  the  Court.  So  far,  we  have 
been  wretched  neighbors.  We  shall  insist  upon  his 
dining  with  us,  just  to  show  that  there's  no  ill-feel- 
ing," he  added,  smiling.  "  Now,  no  excuses." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  never  go  out,"  Mr.  Brown 


54  THE   NEW   TENANT 

answered.      "  I   have   not   even  any   clothes   here, 
o  » 

"  Please  come,  Mr.  Brown,"  she  said  softly. 

He  flashed  a  sudden  glance  at  her  from  his  dark 
eyes,  which  brought  the  color  streaming  into  her 
cheeks.  Fortunately,  twilight  was  commencing  to 
fall,  and  she  was  standing  a  little  back  in  the  shadow 
of  the  plantation. 

"  If  Miss  Thurwell  wishes  it,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
of  a  man  who  offers  himself  to  lead  a  forlorn  hope, 
"  it  is  settled.  I  will  come." 


CHAPTER    IX 

MR.    BROWN   DINES   AT    THE    COURT 

BOTH  to  him  and  to  her  there  was  something 
strangely  unreal  in  the  little  banquet  to  which  they 
three — Mr.  Thurwell,  his  daughter,  and  his  tenant 
— sat  down  that  evening.  For  many  months  after- 
wards, until,  indeed,  after  the  culmination  of  the 
tragedy  in  which  she  was  the  principal  moving  fig- 
ure, Helen  Thurwell  looked  back  upon  that  night 
with  strangely  mingled  feelings.  It  was  the  dawn 
of  a  new  era  in  her  existence,  a  fact  which  she  never 
doubted,  although  she  struggled  vainly  against  it. 
And  to  him  it  was  like  a  sudden  transition  into 
fairyland.  The  long  years  of  lonely  life  and  rigor- 
ous asceticism  through  which  he  had  passed  had 
been  a  period  of  no  ordinary  self-denial.  Instinct- 
ively and  with  his  whole  nature  the  man  was  an 
artist.  His  homely  fare,  ill-cooked  and  ill-served 
among  dreary  surroundings,  had  for  long  been  a 
horror  to  him.  Whatever  his  reasons  for  such  abso- 
lute isolation  had  been,  they  had  sprung  from  no 
actual  delight  in  rough  living  or  non-appreciation  of 
the  refinements  of  civilized  society.  He  realized  to 
the  full  extent  the  sybaritic  pleasures  which  now 
surrounded  him.  The  white  tablecloth  flaming  with 
daintily  modeled  plate  and  cut  glass,  the  brilliant  col- 
oring of  the  scarlet  and  yellow  flowers,  the  aromatic 
perfume  of  the  chrysanthemums  mingling  with  the 
faint  scent  of  exotics,  the  luscious  fruits,  and  the 

55 


56  THE   NEW   TENANT 

softly  shaded  table  lights  which  threw  a  rich  glow 
over  the  lovely  face  opposite  to  him — all  these  things 
had  their  own  peculiar  effect  in  the  shape  of  a  cer- 
tain subtle  exhilaration  which  was  not  slow  to  show 
itself.  With  scarcely  an  effort  he  threw  off  the  old 
mask  of  reserve,  with  all  the  little  awkwardnesses 
and  gaucheries  which  it  had  entailed,  and  appeared 
as  the  shadow  of  the  self  of  former  days — a  cul- 
tured, polished  man  of  the  world.  Even  Mr.  Thur- 
well's  good  breeding  was  scarcely  sufficient  to  con- 
ceal his  surprise  at  the  metamorphosis.  Never  be- 
fore, at  his  table,  had  there  been  such  a  brilliant 
flow  of  conversation — conversation  which  had  all 
the  rare  art  of  appearing  general,  whereas  it  was 
indeed  nothing  less  than  a  monologue  on  the  part 
of  this  strange  guest.  He  had  traveled  far,  he  had 
seen  great  things  in  many  countries,  and  he  had 
known  great  men ;  and  he  talked  lightly  about  them 
all,  with  the  keen  appreciation  of  the  artist,  and  the 
graceful  diction  of  the  scholar.  He  was  a  man  who 
had  lived  in  the  world — every  little  action  and  turn 
of  speech  denoted  it.  The  French  dishes — Mr. 
Thurwell  was  proud  of  his  chef — were  no  secret  to 
him,  and  he  knew  all  about  the  vintages  of  the  wines 
he  was  drinking.  In  the  whole  course  of  his  experi- 
ence, Mr.  Thurwell  had  never  entertained  such  a 
guest  as  this,  and  it  was  a  sore  trial  to  his  good 
manners  to  abstain  from  any  astonished  comment 
on  the  lonely  life  his  tenant  had  been  lately  leading. 
And  Helen  sat  listening  to  it  all  with  a  sort  of 
dreamy  content  stealing  over  her,  out  of  which  she 
was  stirred  every  now  and  then  into  enthusiasm  by 
some  brilliant  criticism  or  fresh  turn  to  the  conver- 
sation. At  such  times  her  gray  luminous  eyes,  with 
their  strange  dash  of  foreign  color,  would  light  up 
and  flash  their  sympathetic  approval  across  the  few 


THE   NEW  TENANT  57 

feet  of  tablecloth  blazing  with  many-colored  flow- 
ers and  fruits  and  glittering  silver.  And  he  grew  to 
look  for  this,  and  to  receive  it  with  an  answering 
glance  from  his  own  dark  eyes,  full  of  a  strange 
light  and  power.  She,  watching  him  more  keenly 
than  her  father  could,  was  conscious  of  something 
that  altogether  escaped  him,  a  sort  of  undercurrent 
of  suppressed  excitement  which  never  rose  to  the 
surface,  and  revealed  itself  in  none  of  his  manner- 
isms or  his  tone.  But  it  was  there,  and  she  felt  it — 
felt  it  more  than  ever  when  their  eyes  met,  and  hers 
were  forced  to  droop  before  the  steady  fire  in  his, 
which  more  than  once  brought  the  faint  color  into 
her  cheeks,  and  sent  a  new  sensation  quivering 
through  her  being. 

Dinner  came  to  an  end  at  last,  but  when  she  rose 
to  go  her  father  protested.  She  generally  sat  with 
him  while  he  smoked  a  cigarette  and  drank  his  cof- 
fee. Why  should  she  go  away  now?  They  were 
making  no  stranger  of  Mr.  Brown.  And  so  she 
stayed. 

Presently  she  found  herself  strolling  round  the 
room  by  his  side,  showing  him  the  pictures  which 
hung  lightly  upon  the  high  oak  panels,  and  the 
foreign  bric-a-brac  and  Italian  vases  ranged  along 
the  wide  black  ledge  a  little  below.  Her  father  had 
been  obliged  to  go  out  and  speak  to  the  head  game- 
keeper about  some  suspected  poaching,  and  they 
were  alone. 

(<  This  is  wyhere  I  like  to  sit  after  dinner,  when  we 
are  alone,"  she  said ;  and,  lifting  some  heavy  droop- 
ing curtains,  she  led  him  into  a  quaint  recess,  almost 
as  large  as  an  ordinary  room.  A  shaded  lamp  was 
burning  on  a  small  Burmese  table,  and  the  faint 
fragrance  of  burning  pine  logs  stole  up  from  the 
open  hearth  and  floated  about  on  the  air,  already 


58  THE   NEW   TENANT 

slightly  perfumed  with  the  odor  of  chrysanthemums 
clustered  together  in  quaint  blue  china  bowls,  little 
patches  of  gold-and-white  coloring,  where  every- 
thing else  was  somber  and  subdued.  She  sank  into 
a  low  basket  chair  before  the  fire,  and,  obeying  her 
gesture,  he  seated  himself  opposite  to  her. 

"  Now,  talk  to  me,  please,"  she  said,  half  hiding 
her  face  with  a  feather  screen  to  protect  it  from  the 
fire.  "  No  comfnonplacisms,  mind !  I  have  heard 
nothing  else  all  my  life,  and  I  am  weary  of  them. 
And,  first,  please  to  light  a  cigarette.  You  will  find 
some  in  the  silver  box  by  your  side.  I  like  the 
perfume." 

He  did  as  he  was  bidden  in  silence.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  watched  the  faint  blue  smoke  curl  upward, 
stole  a  glance  around  him,  and  drew  a  long  breath 
as  though  he  were  drinking  in  to  the  full  the  artistic 
content  of  the  exquisite  harmony  and  coloring,  of 
his  surroundings.  Then  he  threw  a  sudden,  swift 
look  upon  the  beautiful  girl  who  was  leaning  back 
in  her  low  chair,  with  her  fair  head  resting  upon  a 
cushion  of  deep  olive  green,  and  her  eyes  fixed 
expectantly  upon  him.  She  was  so  near  that,  by 
stretching  out  his  hand,  he  could  have  seized  her 
small  shapely  fingers;  so  near,  that  he  could  even 
detect  the  delicate  scent  of  lavender  from  the  lace  of 
her  black  dinner  gown.  He  took  in  every  detail  of 
her  dainty  toilette  from  the  single  diamond  which 
sparkled  in  the  black  velvet  around  her  throat,  to 
the  exquisitely  slippered  feet  resting  lightly  upon  a 
tiny  sage-green  footstool,  and  just  visible  through 
the  gossamerlike  draperies  which  bordered  her 
skirts.  In  the  world  of  her  sex  she  had  become  an 
era  to  him. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  TRAGEDY  OF   RACHEL   K$NASTON. 

"  I  WONDER  whether  you  know  tlat  we  have  met 
before,  Miss  Thurwell  ?  "  he  asked  Her  suddenly. 

She  moved  her  screen  and  looked  at  him. 

"Surely  not!    Where?" 

In  a  few  words  he  reminded  her  of  that  quaint 
street  in  the  old  Italian  town,  and  of  the  half- 
ruined  Palazzo  di  Vechi.  He  had  seen  her  only  for 
a  few  minutes,  but  her  face  had  never  been  forgot- 
ten; the  way  in  which  he  told  her  so,  although  he 
did  not  dwell  upon  it,  told  her  also  that  it  had  been 
no  ordinary  memory — that  it  had  held  a  separate 
place  in  his  thoughts,  as  was  indeed  the  case.  Some- 
thing in  the  manner  of  his  allusion  to  it  showed  her 
too,  as  though  he  had  laid  his  whole  mind  bare, 
with  what  interest,  almost  reverence,  he  had  guard- 
ed it,  and  all  that  it  had  meant  to  him;  and  as  she 
listened  a  faint  color  stole  into  her  cheeks,  with 
which  the  fire  had  nothing  to  do.  She  held  her 
screen  the  closer,  and  bent  her  head  lest  he  should 
see  it. 

But  there  was  no  fear  of  that ;  indeed,  he  had  no 
thought  of  the  kind.  Leaving  the  dangerous  ground 
behind  him,  he  glided  easily  and  naturally  into  im- 
personal subjects.  From  Italy  he  began  to  talk  of 
Florence,  of  Pico  'della  Mirandola,  and  the  painters 
of  the  Renaissance.  He  strove  his  utmost  to  inter- 
est her,  and  with  his  vast  stock  of  acquired  knowl- 
edge, and  his  wonderfully  artistic  felicity  of  expres- 

59 


60  THE   NEW   TENANT 

sion,  he  talked  on  and  on,  wandering  from  country 
to  country,  and  age  to  age,  till  it  all  seemed  to  her 
like  a  strangely  beautiful  poem,  full  of  yellow  light 
and  gleaming  shadow,  sometimes  passionate  and 
intense,  at  others  fantastic  and  almost  ethereal. 
Now  and  then  she  half  closed  her  eyes,  and  his 
words,  and  their  meaning,  the  form  and  the  sub- 
stance, seemed  to  come  to  her  like  richly  blended 
music,  stirring  all  her  senses  and  quickening  all  her 
dormant  faculties.  Then  she  opened  them  again, 
and  looked  steadily  upon  the  dark,  wan  face,  with 
its  sharp  thin  outline  and  strange  poetic  abstraction. 
By  chance  he  spoke  for  a  moment  of  De  Quincey, 
and  a  shudder  passed  through  all  her  being.  Could 
such  a  face  as  that  be  a  murderer's  face  ?  The  utter 
morbidness  of  such  a  thought  oppressed  her  only 
for  a  moment.  If  to-morrow  it  was  to  be  her  duty 
to  loathe  this  man,  then  it  should  be  so;  but  those 
few  minutes  were  too  precious  to  be  disturbed  by 
such  thoughts.  A  new  life  was  stirring  within  her, 
and  its  first  breath  was  too  sweet  to  be  crushed  on 
the  threshold.  After  to-night — anything!  But  to- 
night she  would  have  for  her  own. 

And  so  the  time  passed  on,  and  the  evening 
slipped  away.  Mr.  Thurwell  had  looked  in,  but  see- 
ing them  so  engrossed  he  had  quietly  retreated  and 
indulged  in  his  usual  nap.  A  dainty  tea  equipage 
had  been  brought  in,  and  she  had  roused  herself  to 
prepare  it  with  her  own  hands,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  this  little  touch  of  domesticity  had  been  the  one 
thing  wanted  to  make  the  picture  perfect.  There 
had  been  a  momentary  silence  then,  and  she  had 
found  herself  asking  him  questions. 

"  Do  you  never  feel  that  you  would  like  to  be 
back  in  the  world  again  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Yours  is  a 
very  lonely  life !  " 


THE   NEW  TENANT  6r 

"  I  do  not  often  find  it  so,"  he  answered,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  fire.  "  One's  books,  and  the 
thoughts  one  gets  from  them,  are  sufficient  com- 
panions." 

"  But  they  are  not  human  ones,  and  man  is 
human.  Do  you  think  a  lonely  life  quite  healthy — 
mentally  healthy,  I  mean  ?  " 

"It  should  be  the  healthiest  of  all  lives.  It  is 
only  in  theory  that  solitude  is  morbid.  If  you  knew 
more  of  the  world,  Miss  Thurwell,  you  would 
understand  something  of  its  cramping  influence 
upon  all  independent  thought.  I  am  not  a  pessimist 
— at  least,  I  try  not  to  be.  I  do  not  wish  to  say  that 
there  is  more  badness  than  goodness  in  the  world, 
but  there  is  certainly  more  littleness  than  greatness. 
To  live  in  any  manner  of  society  without  imbibing 
a  certain  form  of  selfishness  is  difficult;  to  do  so 
and  to  taste  the  full  sweetness  of  the  life  that  never 
dies  is  impossible !  " 

"  But  there  must  be  some  exceptions !  "  she  said 
hesitatingly.  "If  people  care  for  one  another,  and 
care  for  the  same  things " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  People  never  do  care  for  one  another.  Life  is 
so  full  nowadays,  there  are  so  many  things  to  care 
about,  that  any  concentration  of  the  affections  is 
impossible.  Love  is  the  derision  of  the  modern 
world.  It  has  not  even  the  respect  one  pays  to  the 
antique." 

For  several  minutes  there  was  deep  silence.  A 
piece  of  burning  wood  tumbled  off  from  the  log  and 
fell  upon  the  tiles,  where  it  lay  with  its  delicate  blue 
smoke  curling  upward  into  the  room,  laden  with  the 
pungent  odor  of  the  pine.  She  moved  her  feet,  and 
there  was  the  slight  rustling  of  her  skirts.  No  other 
sound  broke  the  stillness  which  they  both  remem- 


62  THE  NEW  TENANT 

bered  for  long  afterwards — the  stillness  before  the 
storm. 

Suddenly  it  came  to  an  end.  There  was  a  sound 
of  doors  being  quickly  opened  and  shut,  voices  in 
the  hall,  and  then  a  light,  firm  tread,  crossing  the 
main  portion  of  the  room.  They  both  glanced 
toward  the  curtains,  and  there  was  a  second's  ex- 
pectancy. Then  they  were  thrown  on  one  side  with 
a  hasty  movement,  and  a  tall  dark  woman  in^a  long 
traveling  cloak  swept  through  them. 

She  paused  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  and 
her  flashing  black  eyes  seemed  to  take  in  every  detail 
of  the  little  scene.  She  saw  Helen,  fair  and  comely, 
with  an  added  beauty  in  her  soft,  animated  expres- 
sion, and  she  saw  her  companion,  his  face  alight 
with  intelligence  and  sensibility,  and  with  the  glow 
of  a  new  life  in  his  brilliant  eyes.  The  perfume  of 
the  Egyptian  tobacco  which  hung  about  the  room, 
the  tea  tray,  their  two  chairs  drawn  up  before  the 
fire — nothing  escaped  her.  It  all  seemed  to  increase 
her  wrath. 

For  she  was  very  angry.  Her  form  was  dilated 
with  passion,  and  her  voice,  when  she  spoke,  shook 
with  it.  But  it  was  not  her  anger,  nor  her  threat- 
ening gestures,  before  which  they  both  shrank  back 
for  a  moment,  appalled.  It  was  her  awful  likeness 
to  the  murdered  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston. 

"  Helen !  "  she  cried,  "  they  told  me  of  this ;  but 
if  I  had  not  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes,  I  would  never 
have  believed  it." 

Helen  rose  to  her  feet,  pale,  but  with  a  kindling 
light  in  her  eyes,  and  a  haughty  poise  of  her  fair 
shapely  head. 

"  You  speak  in  riddles,  Rachel,"  she  said  quietly. 
"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

A  very  storm  of  hysterical  passion   seemed  to 


THE   NEW   TENANT  63 

shake  the  woman,  who  had  approached  a  little  fur- 
ther into  the  room. 

"  Not  understand  me !  Listen,  and  I  will  make  it 
plain.  You  were  engaged  to  marry  my  brother.  I 
come  here,  almost  from  his  funeral,  and  I  find  you 
thus — with  his  murderer!  Girl,  I  wonder  that  you 
do  not  die  of  shame !  " 

His  murderer !  For  a  moment  the  color  fled  from 
cheeks  and  lips,  and  the  room  seemed  whirling 
around  her.  But  one  glance  at  him  brought  back 
her  drooping  courage.  He  was  standing  close  to 
her  side,  erect  and  firm  as  a  statue,  with  his  head 
thrown  back,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  Rachel  Kynas- 
ton.  Blanched  and  colorless  as  his  face  was,  there 
was  no  flinching  in  it. 

"  It  is  false !  "  she  said  proudly.  "  Ask  him  your- 
self." 

"  Ask  him !  "  She  turned  upon  him  like  a  tigress, 
her  eyes  blazing  with  fury.  "  Let  him  hear  what  I 
have  to  say,  and  deny  it.  Is  it  not  you  who  followed 
him  from  city  to  city  all  over  the  world,  seeking 
always  his  life?  Is  it  not  you  who  kept  him  for 
many  years  from  his  native  land  for  fear  of  blood- 
shed— yours  or  his?  Is  it  not  you  who  have  fought 
with  him  and  been  worsted,  and  sworn  to  carry  your 
enmity  with  you  through  life,  and  bury  it  only  in  his 
grave?  Look  at  me,  man,  if  you  dare,  look  me  in 
the  face  and  tell  me  whether  you  did  not  seek  his 
life  in  Vienna,  and  whether  you  did  not  fight  with 
him  on  the  sands  at  Boulogne.  Oh,  I  know  you! 
It  is  you !  It  is  you !  And  then  you  come  down  here 
and  live  alone,  waiting  your  chance.  He  is  found 
foully  murdered,  and  you  are  the  only  man  who 
could  have  done  it.  Ask  you  whether  you  be  guilty  ? 
There  is  no  need,  no  need.  Can  anyone  in  their 
senses,  knowing  the  story  of  your  past  hate,  doubt 


64  THE  NEW  TENANT 

it  for  one  moment?  And  yet,  answer  me  if  you  can. 
Look  me  in  the  face,  and  let  me  hear  you  lie,  if  you 
dare.  Tell  me  that  you  know  nothing  of  my  broth- 
er's death !  " 

He  had  stood  like  marble,  with  never  a  change  in 
his  face,  while  she  had  poured  out  her  passionate 
accusation.  But  when  silence  came,  and  she  waited 
for  him  to  speak,  he  could  not.  A  seal  seemed  set 
upon  his  lips.  He  could  not  open  them.  He  was 
silent. 

A  fearful  glare  of  triumph  blazed  up  in  her  eyes. 
She  staggered  back  a  little,  and  leaned  upon  the 
table,  with  her  hand  clasped  to  her  side. 

"  See,  Helen,"  she  cried,  "  is  that  innocence?  O 
God!  give  me  strength  to  go  on.  I  will  see  Mr. 
Thurwell.  I  will  tell  him  everything.  He  shall 
sign  a  warrant.  Ah !  " 

A  terrible  scream  rang  through  the  room,  and 
echoed  through  the  house.  Mr.  Thurwell  and  sev- 
eral of  the  servants  came  hurrying  in.  In  the  middle 
of  the  floor  Rachel  Kynaston  lay  prostrate,  her  fin- 
gers grasping  convulsively  at  the  empty  air,  and  an 
awful  look  in  her  face.  Helen  was  on  her  knees  by 
her  side,  and  Mr.  Brown  stood  in  the  background, 
irresolute  whether  to  stay  or  leave. 

They  crowded  round  her,  but  she  waved  them  off, 
and  grasping  Helen's  wrist,  dragged  her  down  till 
their  heads  nearly  touched. 

"  Helen,"  she  moaned,  "  I  am  dying.  Swear  to 
me  that  you  will  avenge  Geoffrey's  murder.  That 
man  did  it.  His  name — his  name " 

Suddenly  her  grasp  relaxed,  and  Helen  reeled 
back  fainting  into  her  father's  arms. 

"  It  is  a  fit/'  some  one  murmured. 

But  it  was  death. 


CHAPTER    XI 

LEVY    &    SON,    PRIVATE   AGENTS 

"ANYTHING  in  the  letters,  guv'nor?" 

"  Nothing  so  far,  Ben,  my  boy,"  answered  a  little 
old  gentleman,  who  was  methodically  opening  a  pile 
of  envelopes,  and  carefully  scrutinizing  the  contents 
of  each  before  arranging  them  in  separate  heaps. 
"  Nothing  much  yet.  A  letter  from  a  despairing 
mother,  entreating  us  to  find  her  lost  son.  Descrip- 
tion given,  payment — tick!  Won't  do.  Here's  a 
note  from  Mr.  Wallis  about  his  wife's  being  at  the 
theater  the  other  night,  and  a  line  from  Jack  Simp- 
son about  that  woman  down  St.  John's  Wood  way. 
Seems  he's  found  her,  so  that's  off." 

"  Humph !  business  is  slack,"  remarked  a  younger 
edition  of  the  old  gentleman,  who  was  standing  on 
the  hearth  rug,  with  his  silk  hat  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  in  an  attitude  of  unstudied  grace. 

"  Say,  guv'nor,  you  couldn't  let  me  have  a  fiver, 
could  you?  Must  keep  up  the  credit  of  the  firm, 
don't  you  know,  and  I'm  awfully  hard  up.  'Pon  my 
word,  I  am." 

"  I  couldn't  do  anything  of  the  sort !  "  exclaimed 
the  old  gentleman  testily.  "  Certainly  not.  The 
way  you  spend  money  is  grievous  to  me,  Benjamin, 
positively  grievous !  " 

He  turned  round  in  his  chair,  and  with  his  spec- 
tacles on  the  top  of  his  head  surveyed  his  son  and 
heir  with  a  sorrowful  interest. 

65 


66  THE   NEW  TENANT 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all,  some  one  must  spend  the  money 
if  we're  to  keep  the  business  at  all!  "  retorted  Mr. 
Benjamin  testily.  "  I  can't  live  as  I  do  without 
it,  you  know;  and  how  are  we  to  get  the  infor- 
mation we  want?  Look  at  the  company  I  keep, 
too." 

The  old  gentleman  seemed  mollified. 

"  There's  something  in  that,  Ben,"  he  remarked, 
slowly  wagging  his  head.  "  There's  something  in 
that,  of  course.  Bless  me,  your  mother  was  telling 
me  you  was  with  a  lord  the  other  day !  " 

Mr.  Benjamin  expanded  a  little  with  the  recollec- 
tion, and  smiled  gently. 

"  That  was  quite  true,  dad,"  he  remarked  with  a 
grandiloquent  air.  "  I  was  just  going  into  the 
Cri — let  me  see,  on  Tuesday  night  it  was — when 
whom  should  I  run  up  against  but  little  Tommy 
Soampton  with  a  pal,  and  we  all  had  drinks  to- 
gether. He  was  a  quiet-looking  chap,  not  dressed 
half  so  well  as — er " 

"  As  you,  Ben,"  interposed  his  father  proudly. 

"  Well,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  myself  particularly," 
Mr.  Benjamin  continued,  twirling  an  incipient  mus- 
tache, and  looking  pleased.  "  But  when  Tommy  in- 
troduced him  as  Lord  Mossford,  I  was  that  sur- 
prised I  nearly  dropped  my  glass." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him,  Ben  ?  "  asked  the  lit- 
tle old  gentleman  in  an  awed  tone. 

Ben  drew  himself  up  and  smiled. 

"  I  asked  him  how  his  lordship  was,  and  whether 
his  lordship  'd  take  anything." 

"  And  did  he,  Ben  ?  "  asked  his  father  eagerly. 

"  Rather !  He  was  just  as  affable  as  you  like.  I 
got  on  with  him  no  end." 

The  little  old  gentleman  turned  away  to  his  letters 
again  to  hide  a  gratified  smile. 


THE   NEW   TENANT  67 

"  Well,  well,  Ben,  I  suppose  you  must  have  it," 
he  said  leniently.  "  Young  men  will  be  young  men. 
Only  remember  this,  my  boy — wherever  you  are, 
always  keep  an  eye  open  for  business.  Never  forget 
that." 

Benjamin,  junior,  slapped  his  trousers  pocket  and 
grinned. 

"  No  fear,  dad.    I  don't  forget  the  biz." 

"  Well,  well ;  just  wait  till  I've  gone  through  the 
letters,  and  we'll  see  what  we  can  do.  We'll  see. 
Ha !  this  reads  well.  I  like  this.  Ben,  we're  in  luck 
this  morning.  In  luck,  my  boy !  " 

Mr.  Benjamin  abandoned  his  negligent  attitude, 
and,  drawing  close  to  his  father,  peered  over  his 
shoulder.  The  letter  which  lay  upon  the  desk  was 
not  a  long  one,  but  it  \vas  to  the  point. 

"  THURWELL  COURT, 

"  Thursday. 
"  DEAR  SIRS, 

"  I  am  recommended  to  consult  your  firm 
on  a  matter  which  requires  the  services  of  a  skilled 
detective  and  the  utmost  secrecy.  I  am  coming  to 
London  to-morrow,  and  will  call  at  your  office  at 
about  half-past  ten.  Please  arrange  to  be  in  at  that 
time. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  HELEN  THURWELL. 
"  To  Messrs.  Levy  &  Son, 
"  Private  Agents, 

" Street,  Strand,  London." 

Mr.  Levy,  senior,  drew  his  hand  meditatively 
down  the  lower  part  of  his  face  once  or  twice,  and 
looked  up  at  his  son. 

"  Something  in  it,  I  think,  Benjamin,  eh  ?    Thur- 


68  THE  NEW  TENANT 

well  Court!  Coat  of  Arms!  Lady  signs  herself 
Miss  Thurwell !  Money  there,  eh  ?  " 

Mr.  Benjamin  was  looking  thoughtfully  down  at 
the  signature. 

"  Thurwell,  Thurwell !  Where  the  mischief  have 
I  heard  that  name  lately.  Holy  Moses!  I  know," 
he  suddenly  exclaimed,  starting  up  with  glistening 
eyes.  "  Dad,  our  fortune's  made.  Our  chance  has 
come  at  last !  " 

In  the  exuberance  of  his  spirits  he  forgot  the 
infirmities  of  age,  and  brought  his  hand  down  upon 
his  father's  back  with  such  vehemence  that  the  tears 
started  into  the  little  old  gentleman's  eyes,  and  his 
spectacles  rattled  upon  his  nose. 

"  Don't  do  that  again,  Benjamin,"  he  exclaimed 
nervously.  "  I  don't  like  it ;  I  don't  like  it  at  all. 
You  nearly  dislocated  my  shoulder,  and  if  you  had, 
I'd  have  stopped  the  doctor's  bill  out  of  your  allow- 
ance. I  would,  indeed!  And  now,  what  have  you 
got  to  say  ?  " 

Mr.  Benjamin  had  been  walking  up  and  down  the 
office  with  his  hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets  whis- 
tling softly  to  himself.  At  the  conclusion  of  his 
father's  complaint  he  came  to  a  standstill. 

"  All  right,  guv'nor.  Sorry  I  hurt  you.  I  was  a 
bit  excited.  Don't  you  remember  having  heard  that 
name  Thurwell  lately  ?  " 

Mr.  Levy,  senior,  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  I'm  afraid  my  memory  isn't  what  it  used  to  be, 
Benjamin.  The  name  sounds  a  bit  familiar,  and 
yet — no,  I  can't  remember,"  he  wound  up  suddenly. 
"  Tell  me  about  it,  my  boy." 

"  Why,  the  Kynaston  murder,  of  course.  That 
was  at  Thurwell  Court.  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  was 
engaged  to  Miss  Thurwell,  you  know,  and  she  was 
one  of  the  first  to  find  him." 


THE   NEW  TENANT  69 

*'  Dear  me !  Dear  me !  I  remember  all  about  it 
now,  to  be  sure,"  Mr.  Levy  exclaimed.  "  The  mur- 
derer was  never  found,  was  he?  Got  clean  off?" 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Mr.  Benjamin.  "  Dad,  it's 
a  rum  thing,  but  I  was  interested  in  that  case. 
There  was  something  queer  about  it.  I  read  it  every 
bit.  I  could  stand  a  cross-examination  in  it  now. 
Dad,  it's  a  lucky  thing.  She's  coming  here  to  con- 
sult us  about  it,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Ben  Levy. 
And,  by  jabers,  here  she  is !  " 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  cab  stopping  at  the  door, 
and  through  a  chink  in  the  blinds  Mr.  Benjamin  had 
seen  a  lady  descend  from  it.  In  a  moment  his  hat 
was  off  and  on  the  peg,  and  he  commenced  writing  a 
letter  at  the  desk. 

"  Dad,"  he  said  quickly,  without  looking  up, 
"  leave  this  matter  to  me,  will  you  ?  I'm  up  in  the 
case.  A  lady,  did  you  say,  Morrison  ?  " — turning 
toward  the  door.  "  Very  good.  Show  her  in  at 
once." 


CHAPTER    XII 

A    JEWEL   OF    A    SON 

FOR  the  first  time  in  her  life  Helen  was  taking  a 
definite  and  important  step  without  her  father's 
knowledge.  The  matter  was  one  which  had  caused 
her  infinite  thought  and  many  heart  searchings. 
The  burden  of  Rachel  Kynaston's  dying  words  had 
fallen  upon  her  alone.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
escape  from  it.  She  must  act,  and  must  act  for  her- 
self. Any  sort  of  appeal  to  her  father  for  help  was 
out  of  the  question.  She  knew  beforehand  exactly 
what  his  view  of  the  matter  would  be.  In  all  things 
concerning  her  sex  he  was  of  that  ancient  school 
which  reckoned  helplessness  and  inaction  the  chief 
and  necessary  qualities  of  women  outside  the  domes- 
tic circle.  He  might  himself  have  made  some  move 
in  the  matter,  but  it  would  have  been  half  hearted 
and  under  protest.  She  knew  exactly  what  his 
point  of  view  would  be.  Rachel  Kynaston  had  been 
excited  by  a  fancied  wrong — her  last  words  were 
uttered  in  a  veritable  delirium !  She  could  not  part 
with  the  responsibility.  The  shadow  of  it  lay  upon 
her,  and  her  alone.  She  must  act  herself  or  not 
at  all.  She  must  act  herself,  and  without  her 
father's  knowledge,  or  be  false  to  the  charge  laid 
upon  her  by  a  dying  woman.  So  with  a  heavy 
heart  she  had  accepted  what  seemed  to  her  to  be 
the  inevitable. 

She  was  shown  at  once  into  the  inner  sanctuary 
70 


THE   NEW  TENANT  71 

of  Messrs.  Levy  &  Son.  Her  first  glance  around, 
nervous  though  she  was,  was  comprehensive.  She 
saw  a  plainly  but  not  ill-furnished  office,  the  chief 
feature  of  which  was  its  gloom.  Seated  in  an  easy 
chair  was  a  little  old  gentleman  with  white  hair, 
who  rose  to  receive  her,  and  a  little  farther  away 
was  a  younger  man  who  was  writing  busily,  and 
who  did  not  even  glance  up  at  her  entrance.  Al- 
though it  was  not  a  particularly  dark  morning,  the 
narrowness  of  the  street  and  the  small  dusty  win- 
dows seemed  effectually  to  keep  out  the  light,  and 
a  jet  of  gas  was  burning. 

Mr.  Levy  bowed  to  his  visitor,  and  offered  her  a 
chair. 

"  Miss  Thurwell,  I  presume,"  he  said  in  his  best 
manner. 

The  lady  bowed  without  lifting  her  veil,  which, 
though  short,  was  a  thick  one. 

"  We  received  a  letter  from  you  this  morning," 
he  continued. 

"  Yes ;  I  have  called  about  it." 

She  hesitated.  The  commencement  was  very  dif- 
ficult. After  all,  had  she  done  wisely  in  coming 
here?  Was  it  not  all  a  mistake?  Had  she  not 
better  leave  the  thing  to  the  proper  authorities,  and 
content  herself  with  offering  a  reward?  She  had 
half  a  mind  to  declare  that  her  visit  was  an  error, 
and  make  her  escape. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  the  tact  of  the  junior 
member  of  the  firm  asserted  itself.  Quietly  laying 
down  his  pen,  he  turned  toward  her,  and  spoke  for 
the  first  time. 

"  We  gathered  from  your  letter,  Miss  Thurwell, 
that  you  desired  to  consult  us  concerning  the  mur- 
der of  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston." 

Helen  was  surprised  into  assenting,  and  before 


72  THE   NEW   TENANT 

she  could  qualify  her  words,  Mr.  Benjamin  had 
taken  the  case  in  hand. 

"  Exactly.  Now,  Miss  Thurwell,  we  have  had 
some  very  delicate  and  very  difficult  business  con- 
fided to  us  at  different  times,  and  I  may  say,  without 
boasting,  that  we  have  been  remarkably  successful. 
I  may  so,  father,  may  I  not  ?  " 

"  Most  decidedly,  Benjamin.  There  was  Mr. 
Morris's  jewels,  you  know." 

"  And  Mr.  Hadson's  son." 

"  And  that  little  affair  with  Captain  Trescott  and 
Bella  B " 

Mr.  Benjamin  dropped  the  ruler,  which  he  had 
been  idly  balancing  on  his  forefinger,  with  a  crash, 
and  shot  a  warning  glance  across  at  his  father. 

"  Miss  Thurwell  will  not  be  interested  in  the  de- 
tails of  our  business,"  he  remarked.  "  Our  reputa- 
tion is  doubtless  known  to  her." 

Considering  what  the  reputation  of  Messrs.  Levy 
&  Son  really  was,  this  last  remark  was  a  magnifi- 
cent piece  of  cool  impudence.  Even  Mr.  Levy 
could  not  refrain  from  casting  a  quick  glance  of 
admiration  at  his  junior,  who  remained  perfectly 
unmoved. 

"  What  I  was  about  to  remark,  Miss  Thurwell, 
was  simply  this.  The  chief  cause  of  our  success  has 
been  that  we  have  induced  our  clients  at  the  outset 
to  give  us  their  whole  confidence.  We  lay  great 
stress  on  this.  Everything  that  we  are  told  in  the 
way  of  business  we  consider  absolutely  secret.  But 
we  like  to  know  everything." 

"  I  shall  keep  nothing  back  from  you,"  she  said 
quietly.  "  I  have  nothing  to  conceal." 

Mr.  Benjamin  nodded  approval. 

"  Then,  in  order  that  the  confidence  between  us 
may  be  complete,  let  me  ask  you  this  question,  Why 


THE   NEW  TENANT  73 

have  you  brought  this  matter  to  us,  instead  of  leav- 
ing it  to  the  ordinary  authorities  ?  " 

Helen  Thurwell  lifted  her  veil  for  the  first  time, 
and  looked  at  the  young  man  who  was  questioning 
her.  Mr.  Benjamin  Levy,  as  a  young  man  of  fash- 
ion, was  an  ape  and  a  fool.  Mr.  Benjamin  Levy, 
taking  the  lead  in  a  piece  of  business  after  his  own 
heart,  was  as  shrewd  a  young  man  as  you  could 
meet  with.  Looking  him  steadily  in  the  face,  and 
noticing  his  keen  dark  eyes  and  closely  drawn  lips, 
she  began  for  the  first  time  to  think  that,  after  all, 
she  might  have  done  a  wise  thing  in  coming  here. 

"  The  ordinary  authorities  have  had  the  matter  in 
hand  two  months,  and  they  have  done  nothing,"  she 
answered.  "  I  am  very  anxious  that  it  should  be 
cleared  up,  and  I  am  naturally  beginning  to  lose 
faith  in  them.  They  have  so  many  other  things  to 
attend  to.  Now,  if  I  paid  you  well,  I  suppose  you 
would  give  your  whole  time  to  the  matter." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  assented  Mr.  Levy,  senior, 
gravely. 

"  Undoubtedly,"  echoed  his  son.  "  I  am  quite 
satisfied,  Miss  Thurwell,  and  I  thank  you  for  your 
candor." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  want  me  to  tell  you  all  about 
it,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  shudder. 

"  Not  unless  you  know  something  fresh.  I  have 
every  particular  in  my  head  that  has  been  pub- 
lished." 

Helen  looked  surprised. 

"  You  read  all  about  it,  I  suppose  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes ;  such  things  interest  us,  naturally.  This 
one  did  me  particularly,  because,  from  the  first,  I 
saw  that  the  police  were  on  the  wrong  tack." 

"  What  is  your  idea  about  it,  then  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Simply  this,"  he  answered,  turning  round  and 


74  THE   NEW  TENANT 

facing  her  for  the  first  time.  "  All  the  time  and 
trouble  spent  in  scouring  the  country  and  watching 
the  ports  and  railway  stations  was  completely  wast- 
ed. The  murder  was  not  committed  by  an  outsider 
at  all.  The  first  thing  I  shall  want,  when  we  begin 
to  work  this,  is  the  name  and  address  of  all  the 
people  living  within  a  mile  or  two  of  the  scene 
of  the  murder,  and  then  every  possible  particu- 
lar concerning  Mr.  Bernard  Brown,  of  Falcon's 
Nest." 

She  could  not  help  a  slight  start.  And  from  his 
looking  at  her  now  for  the  first  time  so  fixedly,  and 
from  the  abrupt  manner  in  which  he  had  brought 
out  the  latter  part  of  his  sentence,  she  knew  that  he 
was  trying  her. 

"  There  is  one  more  question,  too,  Miss  Thur- 
well,  which  I  rnust  ask  you,  and  it  is  a  very  impor- 
tant one,"  he  continued,  still  looking  at  her.  "  Do 
you  suspect  any  one  ?  " 

She  answered  him  without  hesitation. 

"  I  do." 

Mr.  Levy,  senior,  stirred  in  his  chair,  and  leaned 
forward  eagerly.  Mr.  Benjamin  remained  perfectly 
unmoved. 

"  And  who  is  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mr.  Brown." 

Mr.  Benjamin  looked  away  and  made  a  note.  If 
she  could  have  seen  it,  Helen  would  certainly  have 
been  surprised.  For,  though  her  voice  was  low,  she 
had  schooled  herself  to  go  through  her  task  without 
agitation.  Yet,  here  was  the  note. 

"  Query :  Connection  between  Mr.  Brown  and 
Miss  T.  Showed  great  agitation  in  announcing  sus- 
picion." 

"Do  you  mind  telling  us  your  reasons?"  he 
went  on. 


THE  NEW  TENANT  75 

She  repeated  them  after  the  manner  of  one  who 
has  learned  a  lesson. 

"  Mr.  Brown  came  to  our  part  of  the  country  just 
at  the  time  that  Sir  Geoffrey  came  from  abroad. 
They  had  met  before,  and  there  was  some  cause  of 
enmity  between  them " 

"  Stop !  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  Mr.  Benja- 
min interrupted  quickly. 

She  told  him  of  Mr.  Brown's  admission  to  her, 
and  of  the  tragedy  of  Rachel  Kynaston's  last  words. 
He  seemed  to  know  something  of  this  too. 

"  Any  other  reason?  " 

"  He  seemed  agitated  when  he  came  out  from  the 
cottage,  after  the  crime  was  discovered.  From  its 
situation  he  could  easily  have  committed  the  mur- 
der and  regained  it  unseen.  It  would  have  been  infi- 
nitely easier  for  him  to  have  done  it  than  anyone 
else." 

Mr.  Benjamin  looked  at  his  father,  and  his  father 
looked  at  him. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  anything  at  all  of  his  antece- 
dents ?  "  he  continued. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  We  knew  nothing  about  him  when  he  came. 
He  never  talked  about  himself." 

"  But  he  was  your  father's  tenant,  was  he  not  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  he  gave  you  some  references,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Only  his  bankers  and  his  lawyers." 

"  Do  you  remember  those  ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  bankers  were  Gregsons,  and  the  law- 
yer's name  was  Cuthbent." 

Mr.  Benjamin  made  a  note  of  both. 

"  There  is  nothing  more  which  it  occurs  to  you  to 
tell  us,  Miss  Thurwell  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  There  is   one  circumstance  which  seemed   to 


76  THE   NEW  TENANT 

me  at  the  time  suspicious,"  she  said  slowly.  "  It 
was  after  the  body  had  been  carried  to  Mr.  Brown's 
house,  and  I  was  waiting  for  my  father  there.  I 
think  I  must  have  suspected  Mr.  Brown  then,  in  a 
lesser  degree,  for  I  took  the  opportunity  of  being 
alone  to  look  into  his  sitting  room.  It  was  rather  a 
mean  thing  to  do,"  she  added  hurriedly,  "  but  I  was 
a  little  excited  at  the  notion  of  his  guilt,  and  I  felt 
that  I  would  do  anything  to  help  to  bring  the  truth 
tc  light." 

"  It  was  very  natural,"  interposed  Mr.  Levy, 
senior,  who  had  been  watching  for  some  time  for 
the  opportunity  of  getting  a  word  in.  "  Very  nat- 
ural, indeed." 

His  son  took  no  notice  of  the  interruption,  and 
Helen  continued. 

"  What  I  saw  may  be  of  no  consequence,  but  I 
will  just  tell  you  what  it  was,  and  what  it  suggested 
to  me.  The  window  was  open,  and  the  leaves  of  a 
laurel  shrub  just  outside  were  dripping  with  wet.  A 
little  way  in  the  room  was  an  empty  basin,  and  on 
the  floor  by  the  side  was  a  pile  of  books.  They 
might  have  been  there  by  accident,  but  it  seemed  to 
me  as  if  they  had  been  purposely  placed  there  to 
hide  something — possibly  a  stain  on  the  floor.  Be- 
fore I  could  move  any  of  them  to  see,  I  was  dis- 
turbed/' 

"By  Mr.  Brown?" 

"  By  Mr.  Brown  and  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville." 

"  Did  you  gather  from  his  appearance  that  he  was 
alarmed  at  finding  you  there  ?  " 

Helen  shook  her  head. 

"  No.  He  was  surprised,  certainly,  but  that  was 
natural.  I  cannot  say  that  he  looked  alarmed." 

Mr.  Benjamin  put  away  his  notes  and  turned 
round  on  his  stool. 


THE  NEW  TENANT  77 

"  A  word  or  two  with  regard  to  the  business  part 
of  this  matter,  Miss  Thurwell.  Are  you  prepared  to 
spend  a  good  deal  of  money  ?  " 

"  If  it  is  necessary,  yes." 

"  Very  good.  Then  I  will  give  you  a  sketch  of 
my  plans.  We  have  agents  in  Paris,  Vienna,  Ven- 
ice, and  other  towns,  whom  I  shall  at  once  employ 
in  tracing  out  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston's  life  abroad, 
concerning  which  I  already  have  some  useful  in- 
formation. Durimg  the  rest  of  the  day  I  shall  make 
inquiries  about  Mr.  Brown  in  London.  To-morrow 
I  shall  be  prepared  to  come  down  to  Thurwell  in  any 
capacity  you  suggest." 

"  If  you  know  anything  of  auditing,"  she  said, 
"  you  can  come  down  and  go  through  the  books  of 
the  estate  at  the  Court.  I  can  arrange  that." 

"  It  will  do  admirably.  These  are  my  plans,  then. 
We  shall  require  from  you,  Miss  Thurwell,  two  hun- 
dred guineas  to  send  abroad,  and  forty  guineas  a 
week  for  the  services  of  my  father  and  myself  and 
our  staff.  If  in  twelve  months  we  have  not  suc- 
ceeded, we  will  engage  to  return  you  twenty-five 
per  cent  of  this  amount.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
have  brought  home  the  crime  to  the  murderer,  we 
shall  ask  you  for  a  further  five  hundred.  Will  you 
agree  to  these  terms  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Mr.  Benjamin  stretched  out  his  hand  for  a  piece 
of  writing  paper,  and  made  a  memorandum. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  sign  this, 
then  ?  "  he  said,  passing  it  to  her. 

She  took  the  pen,  and  wrote  her  name  at  the  bot- 
tom. Then  she  rose  to  go. 

"  There  is  nothing  more  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Nothing  except  your  London  address,"  he  re- 
minded her. 


78  THE   NEW  TENANT 

"  I  am  staying  with  my  aunt,  Lady  Thurwell,  at 
No.  8,  Cadogan  Square." 

"  Can  I  call  and  see  you  to-morrow  morning 
there?" 

She  hesitated.  After  all,  why  not.  She  had  put 
her  hand  to  the  plow,  and  she  must  go  on  with  it. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  as  the  auditor  who  is 
going  to  Thurwell  Court." 

He  bowed,  and  held  the  door  open  for  her. 

"  That  is  understood,  of  course.  Good  morning, 
Miss  Thurwell." 

She  was  standing  quite  still  on  the  threshold,  as  if 
lost  in  thought  for  a  moment.  Suddenly  she  looked 
up  at  him  with  a  bright  spot  of  color  glowing  in  her 
cheeks. 

"  Let  me  ask  you  a  question,  Mr.  Levy." 

"  Certainly." 

"  You  have  read  the  account  of  this — terrible 
thing,  and  you  have  heard  all  I  can  tell  you.  Doubt- 
less you  have  formed  some  idea  concerning  it. 
Would  you  mind  telling  it  to  me  ?  " 

Mr.  Benjamin  kept  his  keen  black  eyes  fixed 
steadily  upon  her  while  he  answered  the  question, 
as  though  he  were  curious  to  see  what  effect  it 
would  have  on  her. 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Thurwell.  I  think  that  the  gen- 
tleman calling  himself  Mr.  Brown  will  find  himself 
in  the  murderer's  dock  before  a  month  is  out." 

She  shuddered  slightly,  and  turned  away. 

"  Thank  you.    Good  morning." 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Thurwell." 

She  was  gone,  and  as  the  sound  of  her  departing- 
cab  became  lost  in  the  din  of  the  traffic  outside,  a 
remarkable  change  took  place  in  the  demeanor  of 
Mr.  Benjamin  Levy.  His  constrained,  almost  pol- 
ished manner  disappeared.  His  small,  deep-set  eyes 


THE  NEW  TENANT  79 

sparkled  with  exultation,  and  all  his  natural  vul- 
garity reasserted  itself. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that,  guv'nor,  eh  ?  "  he 
cried,  patting  him  gently  on  the  shoulder.  "  Good 
biz,  eh?" 

"  Benjamin,  my  son,"  returned  the  old  man,  with 
emotion,  "  our  fortune  is  made.  You  are  a  jewel  of 
a  son." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A  STRANGE   MEETING 

GRAYNESS  reigned  everywhere — in  the  sky,  on 
the  hillside,  and  on  the  bare  moor,  no  longer  made 
resplendent  by  the  gleaming  beauty  of  the  purple 
heather  and  fainter  flashes  of  yellow  gorse.  The 
dry,  springy  turf  had  become  a  swamp,  and  phan- 
tomlike  wreaths  of  mist  blurred  and  saddened  the 
landscape.  The  sweet  stirring  of  the  summer  wind 
amongst  the  pine  trees  had  given  place  to  the  melan- 
choly drip  of  raindrops  falling  from  their  heavy, 
drooping  branches  on  to  the  soddened  ground. 
Every  vestige  of  coloring  had  died  out  of  the  land- 
scape— from  the  sea,  the  clouds,  and  the  heath.  It 
was  the  earth's  mourning  season,  when  the  air  has 
neither  the  keen  freshness  of  winter,  the  buoyancy  of 
spring,  the  sweet  drowsy  languor  of  summer,  or 
the  bracing  exhilaration  of  autumn.  It  was  Novem- 
ber. 

Daylight  was  fast  fading  away;  but  the  reign  of 
twilight  had  not  yet  commenced.  After  a  bluster- 
ing morning,  a  sudden  stillness  had  fallen  upon  the 
earth.  The  wild  north  wind  had  ceased  its  moaning 
in  the  pine  trees,  and  no  longer  came  booming 
across  the  level  moorland.  The  dull  gray  clouds 
which  all  day  long  had  been  driven  across  the  leaden 
sky  in  flying  haste,  hung  low  down  upon  the  sad 
earth,  and  from  over  the  water  a  sea  fog  rose  to 
meet  them.  Nature  had  nothing  more  cheerful  to 

80 


THE   NEW  TENANT  8l 

offer  than  silence,  a  dim  light,  and  indescribable  des- 
olation. 

A  solitary  man,  with  his  figure  carved  out  in 
sharp  relief  against  the  vaporous  sky,  stood  on  the 
highest  point  of  the  cliff.  Everything  in  his  atti- 
tude betokened  the  deepest  dejection — in  which  at 
least  he  was  in  sympathy  with  his  surroundings. 
His  head  drooped  upon  his  bent  shoulders,  and  his 
dark,  weary  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  rising  sea 
fog  in  a  vacant  gaze.  Warmly  clad  as  he  was, 
he  seemed  chilled  through  his  whole  being  by 
the  raw  lifelessness  of  the  air.  Yet  he  did  not 
move. 

The  utter  silence  was  suddenly  broken  by  the  ris- 
ing of  a  little  flock  of  gulls  from  among  the  stunted 
firs  hanging  down  over  the  cliff.  Almost  immedi- 
ately afterwards  there  came  another  sound,  denoting 
the  advance  of  a  human  being.  The  little  hand  gate 
leading  out  of  the  plantation  was  opened  and  shut, 
and  light  footsteps  began  to  ascend  the  ridge  of  the 
cliffs  on  which  he  was  standing,  hesitating  now  and 
then,  but  always  advancing.  As  soon  as  he  became 
sure  of  this,  he  turned  his  head  in  the  direction  from 
which  they  came,  and  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  Helen  Thurwell. 

It  was  the  first  time  they  had  come  together  since 
the  terrible  night  at  Thurwell  Court,  when  their 
eyes  had  met  for  an  awful  moment  over  the  dead 
body  of  Rachel  Kynaston.  The  memory  of  that 
scene  flashed  into  the  minds  of  both  of  them ;  from 
hers,  indeed,  it  had  seldom  been  absent.  She  stood 
face  to  face  with  the  man  whom  she  had  been 
charged,  by  the  passionate  prayers  of  a  dying 
woman,  to  hunt  down  and  denounce  as  a  murderer. 
They  looked  at  one  another  with  the  same  thoughts 
in  the  minds  of  both.  The  first  step  she  had  already 


82  THE   NEW  TENANT 

taken.  Henceforth  he  would  be  watched  and 
dogged,  his  past  life  raked  np,  and  his  every  action 
recorded.  And  she  it  was  who  had  set  the  under- 
hand machinery  at  work,  she  it  was  whom  he, 
guilty  or  innocent,  would  think  of  as  the  woman 
who  had  hunted  him  down.  If  he  should  be  inno- 
cent, and  the  time  should  come  when  he  discovered 
all,  what  would  he  think  of  her?  If  he  could  have 
seen  her  a  few  days  back  in  the  office  of  Messrs. 
Levy  &  Son,  would  he  look  at  her  as  he  was  doing 
now?  The  thought  sent  a  shiver  through  her.  At 
that  moment  she  hated  herself. 

It  was  no  ordinary  meeting  this,  for  him  or  for 
her.  Had  she  been  able  to  look  him  steadily  in  the 
face,  she  might  have  seen  something  of  her  own 
nervousness  reflected  there.  But  that  was  just  what 
at  first  she  was  unable  to  do.  One  rapid  glance  into 
his  pale  features,  which  suffering  and  intellectual 
labor  seemed  in  some  measure  to  have  etherealized, 
was  sufficient.  She  had  all  the  poignant  sense  of  a 
culprit  before  an  injured  but  merciful  judge,  and  at 
that  moment  the  memory  of  those  dying  words  was 
faint  within  her.  And  so,  though  it  is  not  usually 
the  case,  it  was  he  who  appeared  the  least  disturbed, 
and  he  it  was  who  broke  that  strange  silence  which 
had  lasted  several  moments  after  she  had  come  to  a 
standstill  before  him. 

"  You  do  not  mind  speaking  to  me,  Miss  Thur- 
well?" 

"  No ;  I  do  not  mind,"  she  answered  in  a  low, 
hesitating  tone. 

"  Then  may  I  take  it  that  Miss  Kynaston's  words 
have  not — damaged  me  in  your  esteem  ?  "  he  went 
on,  his  voice  quivering  a  little  with  suppressed 
anxiety.  "  You  do  not — believe — that " 

"  I   neither   believe  nor  disbelieve ! "   she   inter- 


THE  NEW  TENANT  83 

rupted.  "  Remember  that  you  had  an  opportunity 
of  denying  it  which  you  did  not  accept !  " 

"  That  is  true !  "  he  answered  slowly.  "  Let  it 
remain  like  that,  then.  It  is  best." 

She  had  turned  a  little  away  as  though  to  watch 
a  screaming  curlew  fly  low  down  and  vanish  in  the 
fog.  From  where  he  stood  on  slightly  higher 
ground  he  looked  down  at  her  curiously,  for  in 
more  than  one  sense  she  was  a  puzzle  to  him.  There 
was  a  certain  indefiniteness  in  her  manner  toward 
him  which  he  felt  a  passionate  desire  to  construe. 
She  seemed  at  once  merciful  and  merciless,  sympa- 
thetic and  hard.  Then,  as  he  looked  at  her,  he 
almost  forgot  all  this  wilderness  of  suffering  and 
doubt.  All  his  intense  love  for  physical  beauty, 
ministered  to  by  the  whole  manner  of  his  life, 
seemed  rekindled  in  her  presence.  The  tragedy  of 
the  present  seemed  to  pass  away  into  the  back- 
ground. From  the  moment  when  he  had  first 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Pal- 
azzo Vechi,  he  had  chosen  her  face  and  presence 
with  which  to  endow  his  artist's  ideal — and,  since 
that  time,  what  change  there  had  been  in  her  had 
been  for  the  better.  The  animal  spirits  of  light- 
hearted  girlhood  had  become  toned  down  into  the 
more  refined  and  delicate  softness  of  thoughtful 
womanhood.  In  her  thin  supple  figure  there  was 
still  just  the  suspicion  of  incomplete  development, 
which  is  in  itself  a  fascination ;  and  her  country  at- 
tire, the  well-cut  brown  tweed  ulster,  the  cloth  cap 
from  beneath  which  many  little  waves  of  fair  silky 
hair  had  escaped,  the  trim  gloves  and  short  skirts — 
the  most  insignificant  article  of  her  attire — all 
seemed  to  bespeak  that  peculiar  and  subtle  daintiness 
which  is  at  the  same  time  the  sweetest  and  the  hard- 
est to  define  of  nature's  gifts  to  women. 


84  THE  NEW  TENANT 

Even  in  the  most  acute  crisis,  woman's  care  for 
the  physical  welfare  of  man  seems  almost  an  instinct 
with  her.  Suddenly  turning  round,  she  saw  how 
ill-protected  he  was  against  the  weather,  and  a  look 
of  concern  stole  into  her  face. 

"  How  ridiculous  of  you  to  come  out  without  an 
overcoat  or  anything  on  such  a  day  as  this ! "  she 
exclaimed.  "  Why,  you  must  be  wet  through ! — 
and  how  cold  you  look !  " 

He  smiled  grimly.  That  she  should  think  of  such 
a  thing  just  at  that  moment,  seemed  to  him  to  be  a 
peculiar  satire  upon  what  had  been  passing  through 
his  mind  concerning  her.  Then  a  sudden  thrill 
shook  every  limb  in  his  body — his  very  pulses 
quickened.  She  had  laid  her  gloved  hand  upon  his 
arm,  and,  having  withdrawn  it,  was  regarding  it 
ruefully.  It  was  stained  with  wet. 

"  You  must  go  home  at  once !  "  she  said,  with  a 
decision  in  her  tone  which  was  almost  suggestive  of 
authority.  "  You  must  change  all  your  things,  and 
get  before  a  warm  fire.  Come,  I  will  walk  with  you 
as  far  as  Falcon's  Nest.  I  am  going  round  that 
way,  and  home  by  the  footpath. 

They  started  off  side  by  side.  The  first  emotion 
of  their  meeting  having  passed  away,  he  found  it 
easier  to  talk  to  her,  and  he  did  so  in  an  odd  mono- 
syllabic way  which  she  yet  found  interesting.  All 
her  life  she  had  been  somewhat  peculiarly  situated 
with  regard  to  companionship.  Her  father,  having 
once  taken  her  abroad  and  once  to  London  for  the 
season,  considered  that  he  had  done  his  duty  to  her, 
and  having  himself  long  ago  settled  down  to  the 
life  of  a  country  squire,  had  expected  her  to  be 
content  with  her  position  as  his  daughter  and  the 
mistress  of  his  establishment.  There  was  nothing 
particularly  revolting  to  her  in  the  prospect.  She 


THE  NEW  TENANT  85 

was  not  by  any  means  emancipated.  The  "  new 
woman  "  would  have  been  a  horror  to  her.  But, 
unfortunately,  although  she  was  content  to  accept  a 
comparatively  narrow  view  of  life,  she  was  slightly 
epicurean  in  her  tastes.  She  would  have  been  quite 
willing  to  give  up  her  life  to  a  round  of  such  pleas- 
ures as  society  and  wealth  can  procure,  but  the 
society  must  be  good  and  entertaining,  and  its 
pleasures  must  be  refined  and  free  from  monotony. 
In  some  parts  of  England  she  might  have  found 
what  would  have  satisfied  her,  and  under  the  in- 
fluence of  a  pleasure-seeking  life,  she  would  in  due 
course  have  become  the  woman  of  a  type.  As  she 
grew  older  the  horizon  of  her  life  would  have  be- 
come more  limited  and  her  ideas  narrower.  She 
would  have  lived  without  tasting  either  the  full 
sweetness  or  the  full  bitterness  of  life.  She  would 
have  filled  her  place  in  society  admirably,  and  there 
would  have  been  nothing  to  distinguish  her  either 
for  better  or  worse  from  other  women  in  a  similar 
position.  •  But  it  happened  that  round  Thurwell 
Court  the  people  were  singularly  uninteresting.  The 
girls  were  dull,  and  the  men  bucolic.  Before  she 
had  spent  two  years  in  the  country,  Helen  was 
intensely  bored.  A  sort  of  chronic  languor  seemed 
to  creep  over  her,  and  in  a  fit  of  desperation  she 
had  permitted  herself  to  become  engaged  to  Sir 
Geoffrey  Kynaston,  for  the  simple  reason  that  he 
was  different  from  the  other  men.  Then,  just  as  she 
was  beginning  to  tremble  at  the  idea  of  marriage 
with  a  man  for  whom  she  had  never  felt  a  single 
spark  of  love,  there  had  come  this  tragedy,  and, 
following  close  upon  it,  the  vague  consciousness  of 
an  utter  change  hovering  over  her  life.  What  that 
change  meant  she  was  slow  to  discover.  She  was 
still  unconscious  of  it  as  she  walked  over  the  cliffs 


86  THE  NEW  TENANT 

with  the  grey  mists  hanging  around  them,  side  by 
side  with  her  father's  tenant.  She  knew  that  life 
had  somehow  become  a  fairer  thing  to  her,  and  that 
for  many  years  she  had  been  living  in  darkness. 
And  it  was  her  companion,  this  mysterious  stranger 
with  his  wan  young  face  and  sad  thoughtful  eyes, 
who  had  brought  the  light.  She  could  see  it  flash- 
ing across  the  whole  landscape  of  her  future,  re- 
vealing the  promise  of  a  larger  life  than  any  she 
had  ever  dreamed  of,  full  of  brilliant  possibilities 
and  more  perfect  happiness  than  any  she  had  ever 
imagined.  She  told  herself  that  he  was  the  Colum- 
bus who  had  shown  her  the  new  land  of  culture, 
with  all  its  fair  places,  intellectual  and  artistic.  This 
was  the  whole  meaning  of  the  change  in  her. 
There  could  be  nothing  else. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

HELEN    THURWELL  ASKS   A   DIRECT   QUESTION 

AT  the  summit  of  the  little  spur  of  cliff  they 
paused.  Close  on  one  side  were  the  windows  of 
Falcon's  Nest,  and  on  the  other  the  batch  of  black 
firs  which  formed  the  background  to  it  ran  down  the 
steep  cliff  side  to  the  sea.  The  path  which  they  were 
following  curved  round  the  cottage,  and  crossed  the 
moor  within  a  few  yards  of  the  spot  where  Sir  Geof- 
frey had  been  found.  As  they  stood  together  for  a 
moment  before  parting,  she  noticed,  with  a  sudden 
cold  dismay,  that  thick  shutters  had  recently  been 
fitted  to  the  windows  of  the  little  room  into  which 
she  had  stolen  on  the  day  of  Sir  Geoffrey's  murder. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  being  robbed  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  One  would  imagine  that  your  room  there  held  a 
secret." 

She  was  watching  him,  and  she  told  herself  the 
shot  had  gone  to  its  mark. 

He  followed  her  finger  with  his  eyes,  and  kept  his 
face  turned  away  from  her. 

"  Yes,  that  is  so,"  he  answered  quietly.  "  That 
little  room  holds  its  secret  and  its  ghost  for  me. 
Would  to  God,"  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  passion 
trembling  in  his  tones,  "  that  I  had  never  seen  it — 
that  I  had  never  come  here !  " 

Her  heart  beat  fast.  Could  it  be  that  he  was 
going  to  confess  to  her?  Then  he  turned  suddenly 
round,  and  in  the  twilight  his  white  face  and  dark 

87 


88  THE  NEW  TENANT 

luminous  eyes  seemed  to  her  like  mute  emblems  of 
an  anguish  which  moved  her  woman's  heart  to  pity. 
There  was  none  of  the  cowardice  of  guilt  there, 
nothing  of  the  criminal  in  the  deep  melancholy 
which  seemed  to  have  set  its  mark  upon  his  whole 
being.  And  yet  he  must  be  very  guilty — very  much 
a  criminal. 

Her  eyes  strayed  from  his  face  back  to  the  win- 
dow again.  There  was  no  light  anywhere  in  the 
house.  It  had  a  cold  desolate  look  which  chilled  her. 

"  Is  that  the  room  where  you  sit  ?  "  she  asked, 
pointing  to  it. 

"  Yes.  There  is  no  other  furnished,  except  my 
housekeeper's,  and  she  is  away  now." 

"  Away!    Then  who  is  with  you  in  the  house?  " 

"  At  present,  no  one,"  he  answered.  "  She  was 
taken  ill,  and  went  home  this  morning.  She  is 
generally  ill." 

She  looked  at  him  perplexed. 

"  But  who  does  your  cooking  for  you,  and  light 
the  fires,  and  that  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  thought  about  it  yet,"  he  answered. 
"  I  did  try  to  light  the  fire  this  afternoon,  but  I 
couldn't  quite  manage  it.  I — I  think  the  sticks  must 
have  been  damp,"  he  added  hesitatingly. 

She  looked  at  him,  wet  through  and  almost  blue 
with  cold,  and  at  the  dull  cheerless-looking  cottage. 
Again  the  woman  in  her  triumphed,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

"  I  never  heard  anything  so  preposterous,"  she 
exclaimed  almost  angrily.  "  You  must  be  out  of 
your  senses,  Mr.  Brown.  Now,  be  so  good  as  to 
obey  me  at  once.  Go  into  the  house  and  get  a  thick 
overcoat,  the  thickest  you  have,  and  then  come  home 
with  me,  and  I  will  give  you  some  tea." 

He  hesitated,  and  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment, 


THE  NEW  TENANT  89 

with  his  face  turned  steadily  away  from  her.  All 
the  subtle  sweetness  of  that  last  visit  of  his  to  her 
home  had  come  back  to  him,  and  his  heart  was  sick 
with  a  great  longing.  Was  he  not  a  fool  to  refuse 
to  enter  into  paradise,  when  the  gates  stood  open 
for  him?  No  words  could  describe  the  craving 
which  he  felt  to  escape,  just  for  a  brief  while,  from 
the  lashings  of  his  thoughts  and  the  icy  misery  of 
his  great  loneliness.  What  though  he  were  courting 
another  sorrow!  Could  his  state  be  worse  than  it 
was?  Could  any  agony  be  keener  than  that  which 
he  had  already  tasted?  Were  there  lower  depths 
still  in  the  hell  of  remorse  ?  If  so,  he  would  sound 
them.  Though  he  died  for  it,  he  would  not  deny 
himself  this  one  taste  of  heaven.  He  turned  sud- 
denly round,  with  a  glow  in  his  eyes  which  had  a 
strange  effect  upon  her. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,  Miss  Thurwell,"  he 
said.  "  I  will  come." 

"  That  is  sensible  of  you,"  she  answered.  "  Get 
your  coat,  and  you  can  catch  me  up.  I  think  we 
had  better  go  back  the  same  way,  as  it  is  getting 
late." 

She  walked  slowly  down  the  path,  and  he  hurried 
into  the  cottage.  In  a  few  minutes  he  overtook  her, 
wrapped  in  a  long  Inverness  cape  from  head  to  foot, 
and  they  walked  on  side  by  side. 

The  grey  afternoon  had  suddenly  faded  into  twi- 
light. Overhead  several  stars  were  already  visible, 
dimly  shining  through  a  gauze-like  veil  of  mist 
stretched  all  over  the  sky,  and  from  behind  a  black 
line  of  firs  on  the  top  of  a  distant  hill  the  moon  had 
slowly  risen,  and  was  casting  a  soft  weird  light  upon 
the  saddened  landscape.  Grey  wreaths  of  phantom- 
like  mist  were  floating  away  across  the  moor,  and 
a  faint  breeze  had  sprung  up,  and  was  moaning  in 


90  THE  NEW   TENANT 

the  pine  plantation  when  they  reached  the  hand- 
gate.  They  paused  for  a  moment  to  listen,  and  the 
dull  roar  of  the  sea  from  below  mingled  with  it  in 
their  ears.  She  turned  away  with  a  shudder. 

"  Come !  "  she  said ;  "  that  sound  makes  me 
melancholy." 

"  I  like  it,"  he  answered.  "  Nature  is  an  ex- 
quisite musician.  I  never  yet  heard  the  sea  speak  in 
a  tone  which  I  did  not  love  to  hear.  Listen  to  that 
slow  mournful  rise  of  sound,  reaching  almost  to 
intensity,  and  then  dying  away  so  sadly — with  the 
sadness  that  thrills.  Ah!  did  you  hear  that?  The 
shrieking  of  those  pebbles  dragged  down  to  the  sea, 
and  crying  out  in  almost  human  agony.  I  love  the 
sea." 

"  Is  that  why  you  came  to  this  desolate  part  of 
the  world  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Partly." 

"  Tell  me  the  whole  reason,"  she  said  abruptly. 
"  Was  there  anything  special  which  made  you  fix 
on  this  neighborhood?  You  may  think  me  curi- 
ous, if  you  like — but  I  want  to  know." 

"  I  had  a  vow  to  keep,"  he  answered  hoarsely. 
"  You  must  ask  me  no  more.  I  cannot  tell  you." 

Her  heart  sank  like  lead.  A  vow  to  keep.  There 
was  something  ominous  in  the  sound  of  those 
words.  She  stole  a  glance  at  him  as  they  walked  on 
in  silence,  and  again  her  judgments  seemed  put  to 
confusion  and  her  hopes  revived.  His  face,  dimly 
seen  in  the  shadows  of  the  plantation,  was  suddenly 
illuminated  by  a  pale  quivering  moonbeam,  as  they 
passed  through  a  slight  opening.  Could  these  be 
the  features  of  a  murderer?  Her  whole  heart  re- 
belled against  her  understanding,  and  cried  out 
"  No!  "  For  the  first  time  she  realized  the  aesthetic 
beauty  of  his  face,  scarred  and  wasted  though  it  was 


THE  NEW  TENANT  91 

by  the  deep  lines  of  intellectual  toil  and  consuming 
sorrow.  There  was  not  a  line  out  of  place,  save 
where  his  cheek-bones  projected  slightly,  owing  to 
his  extreme  thinness,  and  left  deep  hollows  under 
his  eyes.  Nor  was  his  expression  the  expression  of 
a  guilty  man,  for,  notwithstanding  the  intense  mel- 
ancholy which  dwelt  always  in  his  dark  eyes,  and 
seemed  written  into  every  feature,  there  was  blended 
with  it  a  strange  pride,  the  slight  yet  wholesome 
contempt  of  a  man  conscious  of  a  certain  superiority 
in  himself,  neither  physical  nor  in  any  way  con- 
nected with  material  circumstances,  over  the  ma- 
jority of  his  fellows.  And  as  the  realization  of  this 
swept  in  upon  her,  and  her  faith  in  him  suddenly 
leaped  up  with  a  new-born  strength,  there  came 
with  it  a  passionate  desire  to  hear  him  proclaim  his 
innocence  with  his  own  lips,  and,  having  heard  it, 
to  banish  for  ever  doubts  and  suspicions,  and  give 
herself  up  to  this  new  sweetness  which  was  hover- 
ing around  her  life.  She  caught  hold  of  his  hand, 
but  dropped  it  almost  at  once,  for  the  fire  which 
flashed  into  his  face  at  the  touch  of  her  fingers  half 
frightened  her.  He  had  come  to  a  sudden  stand- 
still, and  before  his  eyes  she  felt  hers  droop  and  the 
hot  color  burn  her  cheeks.  What  had  come  to  her  ? 
She  could  not  tell.  She  was  nervous,  almost  faint, 
with  the  dawning  promise  of  a  bewildering  happi- 
ness. Yet  her  desire  still  clung  to  her,  and  she 
found  words  to  express  it. 

"  I  cannot  bear  this  any  longer,"  she  cried.  "  I 
must  ask  you  a  question,  and  you  must  answer  it. 
The  thought  of  it  all  is  driving  me  mad." 

"  For  God's  sake,  ask  me  nothing !  "  he  said  in  a 
deep  hollow  tone.  "  Let  me  go  back.  I  should  not 
be  here  with  you." 

"  You  shall  not  go,"  she  answered.    "  Stand  there 


92  THE  NEW   TENANT 

where  the  light  falls  upon  your  face,  and  answer  me. 
Was  it  you  who  killed  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  ?  Tell 
me,  for  I  will  know." 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  which  seemed  to  her 
fevered  nerves  intolerable.  From  all  around  them 
came  the  quiet  drip,  drip,  of  the  rain,  from  the 
bending  boughs  on  to  the  damp  soaked  ground,  and 
at  that  moment  a  slight  breeze  from  over  the  moor- 
land stirred  amongst  the  branches,  and  the  moisture 
which  hung  upon  them  descended  in  little  showers. 
From  below,  the  dull  roar  of  the  sea  came  up  to 
them  in  a  muffled  undertone,  like  a  melancholy 
background  to  the  slighter  sound.  There  was  an 
indescribable  dreariness  about  it  all  which  quickened 
the  acute  agony  of  those  few  moments. 

More  awful  than  anything  to  her  was  the  struggle 
which  she  saw  in  that  white  strained  face  half  hid- 
den in  his  clasped  hands.  What  could  hesitation 
mean  but  guilt  ?  What  need  was  there  for  it  ?  Her 
feet  seemed  turned  to  stone  upon  the  cold  ground, 
and  her  heart  almost  stopped  beating.  There  was 
a  film  before  her  eyes,  and  yet  she  saw  his  face  still, 
though  dimly,  and  as  if  it  were  far  off.  She  saw  his 
hands  withdrawn,  and  she  saw  his  ashen  lips  part 
slowly. 

"  I  did  not  kill  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,"  he  said 
in  a  low  constrained  voice.  "  If  my  life  could  have 
saved  his,  I  would  have  given  it." 

A  warm  golden  light  seemed  suddenly  to  banish 
the  misty  gloom  of  the  damp  plantation.  The  col- 
or rushed  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  heart  leaped  for 
joy.  She  heard,  and  she  believed. 

"  Thank  God !  "  she  cried,  holding  out  both  her 
hands  to  him  with  a  sudden  impulsive  gesture. 
"  Come!  let  us  go  now." 

She  was  smiling  softly  up  at  him,  and  her  eyes 


THE   NEW   TENANT  93 

were  wet  with  tears.  He  took  one  quick  passionate 
step  towards  her,  seizing  her  hands,  and  drawing 
her  unresistingly  towards  him.  In  a  moment  she 
would  have  been  in  his  arms — already  a  great 
trembling  had  seized  her,  and  her  will  had  fled.  But 
that  moment  was  not  yet. 

Something  seemed  to  have  turned  him  to  stone. 
He  dropped  her  fingers  as  though  they  were  burn- 
ing him.  A  vacant  light  eclipsed  the  passion  which 
had  shone  a  moment  before  in  his  eyes.  Suddenly 
he  raised  his  hands  to  the  sky  in  a  despairing 
gesture. 

"  God  forgive  me !  "  he  cried.  "  God  forgive 
me!" 

For  very  shame  at  his  touch,  and  her  ready 
yielding  to  it,  her  eyes  had  fallen  to  the  ground. 
When  she  raised  them  he  was  gone.  There  was  the 
sound  of  his  retreating  footsteps,  the  quick  opening 
and  closing  of  the  hand-gate,  and  through  the  trees 
she  saw  him  walking  swiftly  over  the  cliffs.  Then 
she  turned  away,  with  her  face  half  hidden  in  her 
hands,  and  the  hot  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks. 

Again  there  was  silence,  only  broken  by  the 
louder  roar  of  the  incoming  tide,  and  the  faint 
rustling  of  the  leaves.  Suddenly  it  was  broken  by 
a  human  voice,  and  a  human  figure  slowly  arose 
from  a  cramped  posture  behind  a  clump  of  shrubs. 

"  Holy  Moses !  if  this  ain't  a  queer  start,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Benjamin  Levy,  shaking  the  wet  from 
his  clothes,  and  slowly  filling  a  pipe.  "  Wants  him 
copped  for  murder,  and  yet  tries  to  get  him  to  make 
up  to  her.  She's  a  deep  un,  she  is.  I  wonder  if  she 
was  in  earnest!  If  only  she  was,  I  think  I  see  my 
way  to  a  real  good  thing — a  real  good  thing,"  he 
repeated,  meditatively. 


CHAPTER   XV 

A    LITERARY    CELEBRITY 

IT  was  Tuesday  afternoon,  and  the  Countess  of 
Meltoun  was  at  home  to  the  world — that  is  to  say, 
her  world.  The  usual  throng  of  men  of  fashion, 
guardsmen,  literary  men,  and  budding  politicians 
were  bending  over  the  chairs  of  their  feminine  ac- 
quaintances, or  standing  about  in  little  groups 
talking  amongst  themselves.  The  clatter  of  teacups 
was  mingled  with  the  soft  hum  of  voices;  the 
pleasantly  shaded  room  was  heavy  with  the  perfume 
of  many  flowers.  People  said  that  Lady  Meltoun 
was  the  only  woman  in  London  who  knew  how  to 
keep  her  rooms  cool.  It  was  hard  to  believe  that 
outside  the  streets  and  pavements  were  hot  with 
the  afternoon  sun. 

Helen  Thurwell,  who  had  come  late  with  her 
aunt,  was  sitting  on  a  low  couch  near  one  of  the 
windows.  By  her  side  was  Sir  Allan  Beaumer- 
ville,  and  directly  in  front  of  her  the  Earl  of  Mel- 
toun, with  a  teacup  in  his  hand,  was  telling  her 
stories  of  his  college  days  with  her  father.  There 
had  been  a  great  change  in  her  during  the  last  six 
months.  Looking  closely  into  her  face,  it  seemed 
as  though  she  had  felt  the  touch  of  a  deep  sorrow — 
a  sorrow  which  had  left  all  its  refining  influences 
upon  her  without  any  of  the  ravages  of  acute  grief. 
Those  few  minutes  in  the  pine  grove  by  the  sea 
had  left  their  indelible  mark  upon  her  life,  and  it 

94 


THE  NEW  TENANT  95 

was  only  the  stimulating  memory  of  his  own  words 
to  her  concerning  the  weakness  of  idle  yielding  to 
regret,  and  the  abstract  beauty  of  sorrow  which 
had  been  her  salvation.  They  had  come  back  to  her 
in  the  time  of  her  suffering  fresh  and  glowing  with 
truth;  she  had  found  a  peculiar  comfort  in  them, 
and  they  had  become  her  religion.  Thus  she  had 
set  herself  to  conquer  grief  in  the  highest  possible 
manner — not  by  steeping  herself  in  false  excitement, 
or  rushing  away  for  a  change  of  scene,  but  by  a 
deliberate  series  of  intellectual  and  artistic  abstrac- 
tions, out  of  which  she  had  come,  still  in  a  manner 
sorrowful,  but  with  all  her  higher  perceptions 
quickened  and  strengthened  until  the  consciousness 
of  their  evolution,  gradually  growing  within  her, 
gave  a  new  power  and  a  new  sweetness  to  her  life. 

And  of  this  victory  she  showed  some  traces  in 
her  face,  which  had  indeed  lost  none  of  its  physical 
beauty,  but  which  had  now  gained  a  new  strength 
and  a  new  sweetness.  She  was  more  admired  than 
ever,  but  there  were  men  who  called  her  difficult — 
even  a  little  fastidious,  and  others  who  found  her 
very  hard  to  get  on  with.  The  great  artist  who 
had  just  taken  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville's  place  by 
her  side  was  not  one  of  these. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  here  to-day,  Miss 
Thurwell,"  he  said,  holding  her  grey-gloved  hand 
in  his  for  a  moment.  "  I  have  been  looking  for 
you  everywhere." 

"  That  is  very  nice  of  you,"  she  answered,  smil- 
ing up  at  him. 

"  Ah !  but  I  didn't  mean  only  for  my  own  sake. 
I  know  that  you  like  meeting  interesting  people,  and 
to-day  there  is  an  opportunity  for  you." 

"  Really !  and  who  is  it,  Mr.  Carlyon  ?  How 
good  of  you  to  think  of  me !  " 


96  THE   NEW  TENANT 

"  You  remember  telling  me  how  much  you  ad- 
mire Maddison's  work." 

"Why,  yes!  But  he  is  not  here,  surely?"  she 
exclaimed.  "  It  cannot  be  he !  " 

Mr.  Carlyon  smiled  at  her  sudden  enthusiasm. 
After  all,  this  woman  had  fire.  She  was  too  much 
of  the  artist  to  be  without  it. 

"  He  is  not  here  now,  but  he  will  be.  I  could 
not  believe  it  myself  at  first,  for  I  know  that  he  is 
a  perfect  recluse.  But  I  have  just  asked  Lady 
Meltoun,  and  there  is  no  doubt  about  it.  It  seems 
that  they  came  across  him  in  a  lonely  part  of  Spain, 
and  he  saved  the  life  of  Lady  Meltoun's  only  child 
— a  little  boy.  It  is  quite  a  romantic  story.  He 
promised  to  come  and  seem  them  directly  he  re- 
turned to  England,  and  he  is  expected  here  to-day." 

"  I  shall  like  to  see  him  very  much,"  she  said 
thoughtfully.  "  Lately  I  have  been  reading  him  a 
great  deal.  It  is  strange,  but  the  tone  of  his  writ- 
ings seems  always  to  remind  me  of  some  one  I 
once  knew." 

"  There  is  no  one  of  to-day  who  writes  such 
prose,"  the  artist  answered.  "  To  me,  his  work 
seems  to  have  reached  that  exquisite  blending  of 
matter  and  form  which  is  the  essence  of  all  true 
art." 

"  All  his  ideas  of  culture  and  the  inner  life  are 
so  simple  and  yet  so  beautiful." 

"  And  the  language  with  which  he  clothes  them 
is  divine.  His  work  appeals  everywhere  to  the 
purest  and  most  artistic  side  of  our  emotional  na- 
tures; and  it  is  always  on  the  same  level.  It  has 
only  one  fault — there  is  so  little  of  it." 

"  Do  you  know  him  ? "  she  asked,  deeply  in- 
terested. 

"  I  do.     I  met  him  in  Pisa  some  years  ago,  and, 


THE   NEW   TENANT  97 

although  he  is  a  strangely  reserved  man,  we  became 
almost  intimate.  I  am  looking  forward  to  intro- 
ducing him  to  you." 

"  I  shall  like  it  very  much,"  she  answered  simply. 

"  Who  is  the  fortunate  individual  to  be  so  highly 
favored  ?  "  asked  a  pleasant  voice  close  to  her  side. 

"  You  have  returned,  then,  Sir  Allan  ?  "  she  said, 
looking  up  at  him  with  a  smile.  "  Have  you  heard 
the  news  ?  Do  you  know  who  is  expected  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  have  heard  nothing,"  he  said.  "  If  I  am  to 
have  a  sensation,  it  will  be  you  who  will  impart  it 
to  me.  Don't  tell  me  all  at  once.  I  like  ex- 
pectancy." 

She  laughed. 

"  What  an  epicure  you  are,  Sir  Allan !  Come, 
prepare  for  something  very  delightful,  and  I  will 
tell  you." 

"  Is  it  the  prince  ?  "  he  asked  . 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  The  Mikado  in  disguise?  The  Khedive  incog- 
nito? Mr.  Gladstone?" 

She  shook  her  head  again. 

"  The  sensation  will  be  more  delightful  than  you 
imagine,  evidently.  There  have  been  many  Khe- 
dives, and  many  Mikados,  but  there  can  never  be 
another  Bernard  Maddison." 

A  disturbed  shade  seemed  to  fall  upon  the  baron- 
et's face.  She  followed  his  eyes,  riveted  upon  the 
door.  The  hum  of  conversation  had  suddenly 
ceased,  and  every  one  was  looking  in  the  same 
direction.  On  the  threshold  stood  a  tall,  gaunt  man, 
gazing  in  upon  the  scene  before  him  with  an  ex- 
pression of  distinct  aversion,  mingled  with  indiffer- 
ence. He  was  dressed  just  like  the  other  men,  in  a 
long  frock  coat,  and  he  had  a  white  gardenia  in 


98  THE   NEW   TENANT 

his  button-hole.  But  there  was  something  about 
him  distinct  and  noticeable — something  in  the  quiet 
easy  manner  with  which  he  at  last  moved  forward 
to  greet  his  hostess,  which  seemed  to  thrill  her 
through  and  through  with  a  sense  of  sweet  famil- 
iarity. And  then  she  caught  a  turn  of  his  head  as 
he  stooped  down  over  Lady  Meltoun's  hand,  and  a 
great  wave  of  bewilderment,  mingled  with  an  acute 
throbbing  joy,  swept  in  upon  her.  This  man,  whom 
every  one  was  gazing  at  with  such  eager  interest, 
was  her  father's  tenant,  Mr.  Bernard  Brown. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

A   SNUB    FOR   A   BARONET 

THOSE  few  moments  were  full  of  a  strange,  in- 
tense interest  to  the  three  persons  who  side  by  side 
had  watched  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Bernard  Maddi- 
son.  To  Helen  Thurwell,  whose  whole  being  was 
throbbing  with  a  great  quickening  joy,  they  were 
passed  in  a  strenuous  effort  to  struggle  against  the 
faintness  which  the  shock  of  this  great  tumult  of 
feeling  had  brought  with  it.  To  the  artist,  who 
loved  her,  they  brought  their  own  peculiar  despair 
as  he  watched  the  light  playing  upon  her  features, 
and  the  new  glow  of  happiness  which  shone  in 
those  sweet,  sad  eyes.  And  to  Sir  Allan  Beaumer- 
ville,  who  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  surprise  at 
this  meeting,  they  brought  a  distinct  sensation  of 
annoyance. 

The  artist  was  the  first  to  recover  himself.  He 
knew  that  the  battle  was  over  for  him,  that  this 
woman  already  loved,  and  that  his  cause  was  hope- 
less. And  with  little  of  man's  ordinary  selfishness 
on  such  occasions,  his  first  thought  was  for  her. 

"  You  would  like  to  change  your  seat,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  Come  with  me  into  the  recess  yonder.  I 
will  show  you  some  engravings." 

She  flashed  a  grateful  look  up  at  him,  and  saw 
that  he  knew  her  secret. 

"  I  should  like  it,"  she  said.  "  Walk  that  side  of 
me,  please." 

99 


loo  THE   NEW  TENANT 

They  rose  and  made  their  way  to  one  of  the  little 
screened  recesses  which  people — especially  young 
people — said  made  Lady  Meltoun's  rooms  so  de- 
lightful. He  placed  a  chair  for  her,  and  taking  up 
a  book  of  engravings  buried  himself  in  it. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  for  five  minutes,  please,"  he 
said.  "  I  am  looking  for  a  design." 

At  the  end  of  that  time  he  closed  the  book,  and 
looked  up  at  her.  There  was  no  fear  of  her  fainting 
now.  She  was  very  pale,  but  she  seemed  quite  calm. 

"  I  am  going  to  speak  to  Maddison,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  Do  you — may  I  bring  him  and  introduce 
him  to  you  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  luminous  eyes. 

"  If  you  please.  Don't  tell  him  my  name, 
though." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  he  answered. 

By  moving  her  chair  a  few  inches  she  could  see 
into  the  room.  He  was  still  standing  by  Lady  Mel- 
toun's side,  listening  with  an  absent  smile  to  her 
chatter,  and  every  now  and  then  bowing  gravely  to 
the  people  whom  she  introduced  to  him.  The  hum 
of  conversation  had  been  renewed,  but  many  curi- 
ous glances  were  cast  in  his  direction,  of  which  he 
seemed  altogether  unconscious.  Even  had  there  not 
been  his  great  fame  as  a  critic  and  a  writer,  and  the 
romance  of  his  strange  manner  of  life  to  interest 
people,  his  personal  appearance  alone  was  sufficient 
to  attract  attention.  He  was  taller  by  several  inches 
than  any  man  in  the  room,  and  his  thin  oval  face, 
refined  yet  strong  and  full  of  a  subtle  artistic  sen- 
sibility, was  in  itself  a  deeply  interesting  study. 
How  different  he  appeared  here  in  his  well-fitting, 
fashionable  clothes,  and  calm  distinctive  manner, 
and  with  just  that  essence  of  wearied  languor  in  his 
dark  eyes  which  men  of  the  world  can  only  imitate ! 


THE   NEW  TENANT  IOI 

He  had  changed,  and  yet  he  had  not  changed,  she 
thought.  He  was  the  same,  and  yet  there  was  a 
difference.  Presently  she  saw  Mr.  Carlyon  reach 
his  side,  and  the  greeting  which  passed  between  the 
two  men  was  marked  with  a  certain  quiet  cordiality 
which  bore  out  Mr.  Carlyon's  words,  that  they  had 
once  been  fellow-workers.  Watching  his  oppor- 
tunity, the  artist  drew  him  a  little  on  one  side,  and 
made  his  request.  Helen  drew  back  trembling  with 
expectancy.  But  a  few  minutes  later  Mr.  Carlyon 
came  back  to  her  alone. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  simply,  "  but,  even  to 
oblige  me,  Maddison  won't  come.  I  had  no  idea  he 
was  such  a  misogynist.  He  is  here,  he  says,  to  keep 
a  promise,  but  he  wishes  for  no  acquaintances,  and 
he  absolutely  declines  to  be  introduced  to  any  wom- 
an, unless  it  is  forced  upon  him.  What  shall  I  do? 
Shall  I  tell  him  your  name  ?  " 

She  hesitated. 

"  No,  don't  tell  him  that,"  she  said.  "Do  you  re- 
member a  few  lines  of  poetry  of  his  at  the  end  of 
his  last  volume  of  criticisms?  There  is  a  little 
clump  of  firs  on  the  top  of  a  bare  wind-swept  hill, 
with  the  moon  shining  faintly  through  a  veil  of 
mist,  and  a  man  and  woman  standing  together  like 
carved  figures  against  the  sky,  listening  to  the  far- 
off  murmur  of  the  sea. 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  Then  will  you  tell  him  that  some  one — some 
one  who  has  seen  such  a  place  as  he  describes, 
is ?" 

"  I  will  tell  him,"  Mr.  Carlyon  answered.  "  I 
think  that  he  will  come  now." 

He  left  her  again,  and  went  back  towards  Mr. 
Maddison.  Just  as  he  got  within  speaking  distance 
he  saw  a  slight  quiver  pass  across  the  white  face, 


102  THE   NEW   TENANT 

as  though  he  had  recognized  some  one  in  the  crowd. 
Mr.  Carlyon  hesitated,  and  decided  to  wait  for  a 
moment. 

They  were  standing  face  to  face,  Sir  Allan  Beau- 
merville,  the  distinguished  baronet,  who  had  added 
to  the  dignity  of  an  ancient  family  and  vast  wealth, 
a  great  reputation  as  a  savant  and  a  dilettante 
physician,  and  Mr.  Bernard  Maddison,  whose  name 
alone  was  sufficient  to  bespeak  his  greatness.  In 
Sir  Allan's  quiet,  courteous  look,  there  was  a 
slightly  puzzled  air  as  though  there  were  something 
in  the  other's  face  which  he  only  half  remembered. 
In  Mr.  Maddison's  fixed  gaze  there  was  a  far 
greater  intensity — something  even  of  anxiety. 

"  Surely  we  have  met  before,  Mr.  Maddison,"  the 
baronet  said  easily.  "  Your  face  seems  quite  famil- 
iar to  me.  Ah !  I  remember  now,  it  was  near  that 
place  of  Lord  Lathon's,  Mallory  Grange,  upon  the 
coast.  A  terrible  affair,  that." 

"  Yes,  a  terrible  affair,"  Mr.  Maddison  repeated. 

"  And  have  you  just  come  from shire?  "  Sir 

Allan  asked. 

"  No ;  I  have  been  abroad  for  several  months," 
Mr.  Maddison  answered. 

"  Abroad !  "  Sir  Allan  appeared  a  little  more  in- 
terested. "  In  what  part  ?  "  he  asked  civilly. 

"  I  have  been  in  Spain,  and  the  south  of  France, 
across  the  Hartz  mountains,  and  through  the  Black 
Forest." 

"  Not  in  Italy  ?  "  Sir  Allan  inquired. 

There  was  a  short  silence,  and  Sir  Allan  seemed 
really  anxious  for  the  reply.  It  came  at  last. 

"No;  not  in  Italy." 

Sir  Allan  seemed  positively  pleased  to  think  that 
Mr.  Maddison  had  not  extended  his  travels  to  Italy. 
There  was  a  quiet  gleam  in  his  eyes  which  seemed 


THE   NEW   TENANT  103 

almost  like  relief.  Doubtless  he  had  his  reasons, 
but  there  were  a  little  obscure. 

"  Ah !  Shall  you  call  upon  me  while  you  are  in 
town,  Mr.  Maddison?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone  from 
which  all  invitation  was  curiously  lacking. 

"  I  think  not,"  Mr.  Maddison  answered.  "  My 
stay  here  will  be  brief.  I  dislike  London." 

Sir  Allan  laughed  gently. 

"  It  is  the  only  place  in  the  world  fit  to  live  in," 
he  answered. 

"  My  work  and  my  tastes  demand  a  quieter  life," 
Mr.  Maddison  remarked. 

"  You  will  go  into  the  country  then,  I  suppose." 

"  That  is  my  intention,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"  Back  to  the  same  neighborhood." 

"  It  is  possible." 

Sir  Allan  looked  searchingly  into  the  other's  calm, 
expressionless  face. 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  the  associa- 
tions  " 

Mr.  Maddison  was  evidently  not  used  to  society. 
Several  people  said  so  who  saw  him  suddenly  turn 
his  back  on  that  charming  old  gentleman,  Sir  Allan 
Beaumerville,  and  leave  him  in  the  middle  of  a  sen- 
tence. Lady  Meltoun,  who  happened  to  notice  it,  was 
quite  distressed  at  seeing  an  old  friend  treated  in 
such  a  manner.  But  Sir  Allan  took  it  very  nicely, 
everybody  said.  There  had  been  a  flush  in  his  face 
just  for  a  moment,  but  it  soon  died  away.  It  was 
his  own  fault,  he  declared.  He  had  certainly  made 
an  unfortunate  remark,  and  these  artists  and  literary 
men  were  all  so  sensitive.  He  hoped  that  Lady 
Meltoun  would  think  no  more  of  it,  and  accordingly 
Lady  Meltoun  promised  not  to.  But  though,  of 
course,  she  and  every  one  else  who  had  seen  it  sym- 
pathized with  Sir  Allan,  there  were  one  or  two, 


104  THE   NEW  TENANT 

with  whom  Sir  Allan  was  not  quite  such  a  favorite, 
who  could  not  help  remarking  upon  the  grand  air 
with  which  Mr.  Maddison  had  turned  his  back  upon 
the  baronet,  and  the  dignity  with  which  he  had  left 
him. 

Mr.  Carlyon,  who  had  been  watching  for  his  op- 
portunity, buttonholed  Maddison,  and  led  him  into 
a  corner. 

"  I've  got  you  now,"  he  said  triumphantly.  "  My 
dear  fellow,  whatever  made  you  snub  poor  Sir  Allan 
like  that?" 

"  Never  mind.  Come  and  make  your  adieux  to 
Lady  Meltoun,  and  let  us  go.  I  should  not  have 
come  here." 

"  One  moment  first,  Maddison,"  the  artist  said 
seriously.  "  Do  you  remember  those  lines  of  yours 
in  which  a  man  and  woman  stand  on  a  bare  hill  by 
a  clump  of  pines,  and  watch  the  misty  moonlight 
cast  weird  shadows  upon  the  hillside  and  over  the 
quivering  sea  ?  '  A  Farewell,'  you  called  it,  I 
think?" 

"  Yes ;  I  remember  them." 

"  Maddison,  the  woman  to  whom  I  wished  to  in- 
troduce you  bids  you  to  go  to  her  by  the  memory  of 
those  lines." 

There  was  very  little  change  in  his  face.  It  only 
grew  a  little  more  rigid,  and  a  strange  light  gleamed 
in  his  eyes.  But  the  hand  which  he  had  laid  on 
Carlyon's  arm  to  draw  him  towards  Lady  Meltoun 
suddenly  tightened  like  a  band  of  iron,  till  the  artist 
nearly  cried  out  with  pain. 

"  Let  go  my  arm,  for  God's  sake,  man !  "  he  said 
in  a  low  tone,  "  and  I  will  take  you  to  her." 

"  I  am  ready,"  Mr.  Maddison  answered  quietly. 
"  Ah !  I  see  where  she  is.  You  need  not  come." 

He  crossed  the  room,  absolutely  heedless  of  more 


THE   NEW   TENANT  IO  = 


than  one  attempt  to  stop  him.  Mr.  Carlyon  watched 
him,  and  then  with  a  sort  heart  bade  his  hostess 
farewell,  and  hurried  away.  He  was  generous 
enough  to  help  another  man  to  his  happiness,  but 
he  could  not  stay  and  watch  it. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

BERNARD    MADDISON    AND    HELEN    THURWELL 

AND  so  it  was  in  Lady  Meltoun's  drawing-room 
that  they  met  again,  after  those  few  minutes  in  the 
pine  plantation  which  had  given  color  and  passion 
to  her  life,  and  which  had  formed  an  epoch  in  his. 
Neither  were  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  if  they  were 
not  exactly  the  centre  of  observation,  they  were  still 
liable  to  it  in  some  degree,  and  their  greeting  was 
as  conventional  as  it  well  could  have  been.  After 
all,  she  thought,  why  should  it  be  otherwise?  There 
had  never  a  word  of  love  passed  between  them — 
only  those  few  fateful  moments  of  tragic  intensity, 
when  all  words  and  thoughts  had  been  merged  in  a 
deep  reciprocal  consciousness  which  nothing  could 
have  expressed. 

He  stood  before  her,  holding  her  hand  in  his  for 
a  moment  longer  than  was  absolutely  necessary,  and 
looking  at  her  intently.  It  was  a  gaze  from  which 
she  did  not  shrink,  more  critical  than  passionate, 
and  when  he  withdrew  his  eyes  he  looked  away 
from  her  with  a  sigh. 

"  You  have  been  living!  "  he  said.  "  Tell  me  all 
about  it !  " 

She  moved  her  skirts  to  make  room  for  him  by 
her  side. 

"  Sit  down!  "  she  said,  "  and  I  will  try." 

He  obeyed,  but  when  she  tried  to  commence  and 
tell  him  all  that  she  had  felt  and  thought,  she  could 

1 06 


THE   NEW   TENANT  107 

not.  Until  that  moment  she  scarcely  realized  how 
completely  her  life  had  been  moulded  by  his  in- 
fluence. It  was  he  who  had  first  given  her  a  glimpse 
of  that  new  world  of  thought  and  art,  and  almost 
epicurean  culture  into  which  she  had  made  some 
slight  advance  during  his  absence,  and  it  was  cer- 
tain vague  but  sweet  recollections  of  him  which  had 
lived  with  her  and  flowed  through  her  life — a  deep 
undercurrent  of  passion  and  poetry,  throwing  a 
golden  halo  over  all  those  new  sensations — which 
had  raised  her  existence,  and  her  ideals  of  existence 
on  to  a  higher  level.  How  could  she  tell  him  this? 
The  time  might  come  when  she  could  do  so,  and  if 
ever  it  did  come,  she  knew  that  it  would  be  the  hap- 
piest moment  of  her  life.  But  it  was  not  yet. 

"  Tell  me  a  little  of  yourself,"  she  said  evasively. 
"  You  have  been  traveling,  have  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  traveling  a  little ! "  he  an- 
swered. "  In  Spain  I  was  taken  ill,  and  Lady  Mel- 
toun  was  kind  to  me.  That  is  why  I  am  here." 

"  But  you  do  not  say  how  it  was  that  you  were 
taken  ill,"  she  said,  her  cheeks  suddenly  glowing. 
"  You  saved  her  son's  life.  We  saw  all  about  it  in 
the  papers,  but  of  course  we  did  not  know  that  it 
was  you.  It  was  splendid !  " 

"  If  you  saw  it  in  the  papers  at  all,  depend  upon 
it,  it  was  very  much  exaggerated !  "  he  answered 
quietly.  "  Your  father  received  my  letter,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

"  Yes ;  the  cottage  has  been  shut  up,  just  as  you 
desired.  Are  you  ever  coming  to  take  possession 
again  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so — some  day — and  yet  I  do  not  know. 
There  are  strange  things  in  my  life,  Miss  Thurwell, 
which  every  now  and  then  rise  up  and  drive  me 
away  into  aimless  wanderings.  Life  has  no  goal 


108  THE   NEW  TENANT 

for  me — it  cannot  have.  I  stand  for  ever  on  the 
brink  of  a  precipice." 

There  was  a  sadness  in  his  voice  which  almost 
brought  the  tears  into  her  eyes — mostly  for  his 
sake,  partly  for  her  own.  For,  though  he  might 
never  know  it,  were  not  his  sorrows  her  sorrows? 

"  Are  they  sorrows  which  you  can  tell  to  no 
one?  "  she  asked  softly.  "  Can  no  one  help  you?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  No  one." 

"  And  yet  no  sorrow  can  last  for  ever  that  has 
not  guilt  at  its  root,"  she  said. 

"  Mine  will  last  while  life  lasts,"  he  answered ; 
"  and  there  is — no  guilt  at  the  root." 

"  You  have  taken  up  another's  burden,"  she  said. 
"  Is  it  well  ?  Do  you  owe  nothing  to  yourself,  and 
your  own  genius?  Sorrow  may  shorten  your  life, 
and  the  world  can  ill  spare  your  work." 

"  There  are  others  who  can  do  my  work,"  he 

said.  "  No  other  can But  forgive  me.  I  wish 

to  talk  of  this  no  more.  Tell  me  of  your  life  since 
I  left  you.  Something  in  your  face  tells  me  that 
it  has  been  well  spent.  Let  me  hear  of  it." 

And,  gathering  up  all  her  courage,  she  told  him. 
Piece  by  piece  she  took  up  the  disconnected 
thoughts  and  ideas  which  had  come  to  her,  and 
wove  them  together  after  the  pattern  of  her  life — 
to  which  he  listened  with  a  calm  approval,  in  which 
was  sometimes  mingled  a  deeper  enthusiasm,  as  she 
touched  a  chord  which  in  his  own  being  had  often 
been  struck  to  deep  tremulous  music.  And  as  she 
went  on  he  grew  sad.  With  such  a  companion  as 
this  woman,  whose  sensibilities  were  his  sensibil- 
ities, and  whose  instincts  so  naturally  cultured,  so 
capable  of  the  deeper  coloring  and  emotional  pas- 
sion which  his  influence  could  speedily  develop— 


THE  NEW  TENANT  109 

with  such  a  woman  as  this — whom  already  he 
loved,  what  might  not  life  mean  for  him?  Well,  it 
must  pass.  Another  of  those  bright  butterfly  vis- 
ions of  his  fancy,  gorgeous  with  hope  and  brilliancy 
— another  one  to  be  crushed  by  the  iron  hand  of 
necessity.  He  had  gone  away  wounded,  and  he 
had  come  back  to  find  the  wound  still  bleeding. 

Gradually  the  rooms  were  thinning,  and  at  last 
Lady  Thurwell,  impatient  of  her  niece's  long  ab- 
sence, came  to  fetch  her.  When  she  found  her  tete- 
a-tete  with  the  lion  of  the  day,  however,  her  man- 
ner was  most  gracious. 

"  I  hope  you  have  been  able  to  persuade  Mr. 
Maddison  to  come  and  see  us/'  she  said  to  her 
niece.  "  We  are  at  home  on  Thursdays  at  Cadogan 
Square,  and  we  lunch  every  day  at  two,"  she  added, 
turning  towards  him.  "  Come  whenever  you  like." 

"  You  are  very  good,  Lady  Thurwell,"  he  said, 
accepting  her  offered  hand.  "  I  am  only  passing 
through  London,  but  if  I  have  the  opportunity  I 
shall  avail  myself  of  your  kindness." 

She  left  them  together  for  a  moment  while  she 
made  her  adieux  to  her  hostess.  In  that  moment 
Helen  found  courage  to  yield  to  a  sudden  impulse. 

"  Please  come,"  she  said  softly. 

He  had  no  time  to  answer,  for  Lady  Meltoun  had 
come  up  to  them. 

"  Miss  Thurwell,"  she  said  good-naturedly,  "  I 
don't  know  when  I  shall  forgive  you  for  monopo- 
lizing Mr.  Maddison  in  this  shameful  manner. 
Why,  there  were  quite  a  crowd  of  people  came  this 
afternoon  only  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  him,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  his  boots  behind  that 
screen.  I  am  in  terrible  disgrace,  I  can  assure 
you!" 

"  The  fault  was  mine,"  he  interposed,  "  altogether 


HO  THE   NEW  TENANT 

mine.  In  an  ungovernable  fit  of  shyness,  I  took 
refuge  with  the  only  person  except  yourself,  Lady 
Meltoun,  whom  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  know.  I 
simply  refused  to  come  away." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  forgive  you,  or  you 
won't  come  again,"  Lady  Meltoun  said.  "  But  now 
you  are  here,  you  must  really  stop  and  see  Edgar. 
When  every  one  has  gone  we  will  go  up  to  the 
nursery,  and  in  the  meantime  you  may  make  your- 
self useful  by  taking  Lady  Thurwell  out  to  her 
carriage.  I'm  afraid  there's  rather  a  crush." 

So  they  all  three  went  out  together,  and  while 
they  stood  waiting  for  Lady  Thurwell's  victoria,  he 
managed  to  say  a  word  to  her  alone. 

"  I  will  come  and  see  you,"  he  whispered  . 

She  looked  up  at  him  a  little  shyly,  for  in  hand- 
ing her  into  the  carriage  he  had  assumed  a  certain 
air  of  proprietorship  which  had  brought  a  faint 
color  into  her  cheeks. 

"  Come  soon,"  she  whispered.    "  Good-bye !  " 

She  nodded  brightly,  and  Lady  Thurwell  smiled 
as  the  horses  started  forward,  and  the  carriage 
drove  away. 

"  I  wonder  who  Mr.  Maddison  really  is  ?  "  she 
said,  half  to  herself,  just  as  they  reached  home. 

Lady  Thurwell  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Do  you  mean  who  his  family  are  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  My  dear,  it  isn't  of  the  slightest  consequence. 
Bernard  Maddison  is  Bernard  Maddison,  and  his 
position  would  be  just  what  it  is,  even  though  his 
father  were  a  coal  heaver." 

Which  remark  showed  that  Lady  Thurwell,  as 
well  as  being  a  woman  of  society,  was  also  a  woman 
of  sense.  But  Helen  was  not  thinking  of  his  family. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

A    CHEQUE    FOR    £l,OOO 

IT  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  the  usual 
routine  of  business  had  commenced  in  the  office  of 
Messrs.  Levy  &  Son.  Mr.  Levy,  senior,  was  sit- 
ting at  his  desk  opening  his  letters,  and  Mr.  Benja- 
min, who  had  only  just  returned  from  a  long 
journey  on  business  of  the  firm,  and  did  not  feel 
inclined  for  office  work,  was  leaning  back  in  the 
client's  chair,  with  his  feet  up  against  the  mantel- 
piece, and  a  partly  smoked  cigar  in  his  mouth.  He 
had  just  finished  a  long  account  of  his  adventures, 
and  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  quit  the  subject. 

"  Altogether,  dad,"  he  was  saying,  "  it's  about  the 
prettiest  piece  of  business  we  ever  struck.  But  one 
thing  is  very  certain.  We  must  get  some  more  tin 
from  Miss  Thurwell.  Why,  I've  been  at  it  five 
months  now,  and  the  expenses  at  some  of  those  for- 
eign hotels  were  positively  awful.  Not  knowing  the 
confounded  lingo,  you  see,  I  was  forced  to  stump 
up,  without  trying  the  knocking-off  game." 

"  Yes,  Benjamin.  Yes,  my  son.  We  must  cer- 
tainly have  some  more  of  the  rhino.  Your  ex- 
penses have  been  positively  e-normous,  e-normous," 
declared  the  old  man,  with  uplifted  hands  and  eyes. 
"  Some  of  your  drafts  have  brought  tears  into  my 
eyes.  Positively  tears,"  he  echoed  mournfully. 

"  Couldn't  be  helped,  guv'nor.  The  thing  had 
to  be  done." 


H2  THE  NEW  TENANT 

"  And  you  have  got  it  nearly  all  in  order  now, 
Benjamin,  eh  ?  You've  got  him  under  your  thumb, 
eh  ?  He  can't  escape  ?  " 

"  Not  he !  Mark  my  words,  dad.  The  rope's 
already  woven  that'll  go  round  his  neck." 

The  old  man  looked  doubtful. 

"  If  he's  such  a  learned,  clever  man  as  you  say — 
writes  books  and  such  like — they'll  never  hang  him, 
my  son.  They'll  reprieve  him.  That's  what  they'll 
do." 

"  I  don't  care  a  blooming  fig  which  it  is,  so  long 
as  it  comes  off.  Do  you  remember  what  I  told  you 
when  Miss  Thurwell  first  came  here,  dad?" 

"  Perfectly,  my  son,  perfectly.  You  said  that  our 
fortune  was  made.  Those  were  your  very  words," 
he  added,  with  glistening  eyes.  "  Our  fortune  is 
made." 

"  And  what  I  said  I'll  stick  to,"  Mr.  Benjamin 
declared.  "  When  this  case  comes  off,  it'll  be  the 
biggest  thundering  sensation  of  the  day.  And 
who'll  get  the  credit  of  it  all?  Who  tracked  him 
down  for  all  his  false  name  and  sly  ways;  hunted 
Him  all  over  Europe,  found  out  who  he  really  was, 
and  why  he  hated  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  so 
much  that  he  murdered  him?  Why,  I  did,  dad 
— Benjamin  Levy,  of  Levy  &  Son,  Carle  Street, 
Strand.  Ain't  it  glorious,  guv'nor?  Ain't  it 
proud  ?  " 

Mr.  Benjamin's  enthusiasm  was  catching.  It 
was  reflected  in  his  father's  face,  and  something 
glistened  in  his  eyes.  He  removed  his  spectacles, 
and  carefully  wiped  them.  After  all,  he  was  a 
father,  and  he  had  a  father's  feelings. 

"When  will  the  time  come,  Benjamin?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"  A  month  to-day,  I  hope,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 


THE  NEW  TENANT  113 

"  I  have  one  more  journey  to  take,  and  it  will  be 
all  square." 

"Where  to?  How  far?"  inquired  the  old  gen- 
tleman uneasily. 

Mr.  Benjamin  looked  at  him,  and  shook  his  head. 
"  Come,  dad,  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,"  he 
said.  "  It's  the  expense,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  It  is,  Benjamin,"  his  father  groaned.  "  I  hate 
parting  with  hard-earned  money  for  exorbitant  bills 
and  these  long  journeys.  Couldn't  it  be  done  with- 
out it,  Ben  ? "  he  inquired,  in  a  wheedling  tone. 
"  There's  piles  of  money  gone  already  in  expenses. 
Piles  and  piles." 

"  And  if  there  is,  ain't  it  Miss  Thurwell's,  you 
old  stupid  ?  "  remarked  Mr.  Benjamin.  "  'Tain't 
likely  that  we  should  find  the  money  ourselves." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  But,  Benjamin,  my  son, 
the  money  is  thrown  away  for  all  that.  We  could 
charge  it,  you  know — charge  it  always.  We  must 
have  a  margin — we  must  positively  have  a  margin 
to  work  with." 

"Dad,  dad,  what  an  old  sinner  you  are!"  ex- 
claimed his  hopeful  son,  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
and  laughing.  "  A  margin  to  work  with.  Ha ! 
ha!  ha!" 

Mr.  Levy  looked  uncertain  whether  to  regard  his 
son's  merriment  as  a  compliment,  or  to  resent  it. 
Eventually,  the  former  appeared  to  him  the  wisest 
course,  and  he  smiled  feebly. 

"  Dad,  just  you  leave  this  matter  with  me,"  Mr. 
Benjamin  said  at  last.  "  I  know  what  I'm  doing, 
and  unless  I'm  very  much  mistaken,  I  see  my  way 
to  make  this  a  bigger  thing,  even  as  regards  the 
cash,  than  you  and  I  ever  dreamed  of.  Leave  it  to 
me.  Hullo !  who's  that  ?  " 

He  peered  up  over  the  office  blind,  and  sat  down 


114  THE   NEW   TENANT 

again  at  once.  In  a  moment  his  cigar  was  behind 
the  grate,  and  his  expression  completely  changed. 

"  Ah !  Miss  Thurwell,  dad,"  he  said  coolly,  "  and 
I'll  bet  ten  to  one  I  know  what  she  wants.  Mind 
you  leave  it  all  to  me.  I've  no  time  to  explain,  but 
you'll  spoil  it  if  you  interfere.  Come  in.  Why, 
Miss  Thurwell,  we  were  this  moment  talking  of 
you,"  he  continued,  springing  to  his  feet  and  offer- 
ing her  a  chair.  "  Please  come  in." 

Helen  advanced  into  the  room,  and  lifted  her 
veil.  One  swift  glance  into  her  flushed  face  con- 
firmed Mr.  Benjamin's  idea  as  to  the  reason  of  her 
visit,  and  he  commenced  talking  rapidly. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come  this  morning,  Miss  Thur- 
well. I  only  got  back  from  Spain  yesterday,  and 
I'm  thankful  to  tell  you  our  case  is  nearly  complete. 
Thankful  for  your  sake,  because  you  will  have  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  the  murderer  of  Sir  Geoffrey 
Kynaston  brought  to  book,  and  thankful  for  ours, 
because  we  shall  at  one  stroke  establish  our  reputa- 
tion. I  need  not  tell  you  that  that  is  far  more  to 
us  than  the  reward  will  be,  for  our  expenses  have 
been  enormous." 

"  Enormous !  "  groaned  Mr.  Levy,  senior. 

"  However,  we  have  decided  not  to  take  another 
penny  of  money  from  you,  Miss  Thurwell,"  he  con- 
tinued, casting  a  warning  glance  at  his  father. 
"  After  all,  the  money  is  not  so  much  to  us  as  our 
reputation,  and  this  will  be  made  for  ever,  now." 

Mr.  Benjamin  paused,  a  little  out  of  breath,  but 
quite  satisfied  with  himself.  Opposite,  his  father 
was  purple  with  anger,  and  almost  choking  at  his 
son's  folly.  Take  no  more  money  from  Miss  Thur- 
well !  Was  the  boy  mad  ? 

"  I'm  afraid,  from  what  you  say,  Mr.  Levy," 
Helen  said  hesitatingly,  "  that  you  will  be  rather 


THE  NEW  TENANT  115 

disappointed  when  I  tell  you  the  reason  of  my 
visit." 

Mr.  Benjamin,  who  knew  perfectly  well  what  she 
was  going  to  say,  assumed  an  expression  of  deep 
concern. 

"  I  find,"  she  continued,  "  that  we  must  have  been 
making  a  mistake  all  along,  and  you  have  evidently 
been  misled.  This  Mr.  Brown,  who  appeared  such 
a  mysterious  personage  to  us,  and  whom  we  there- 
fore suspected,  is  no  other  than  Bernard  Maddison." 

"  Yes.  I  knew  that,"  Mr.  Benjamin  remarked 
quietly.  "  I  found  that  out  very  soon,  of  course. 
Author,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  isn't  he?  Well, 
go  on,  Miss  Thurwell,  please.  I  am  anxious." 

She  looked  surprised. 

"  Don't  you  see  that  this  does  away  with  our 
theory  at  once?  It  is  quite  impossible  that  a  man 
like  Bernard  Maddison  could  have  committed  a  hor- 
rible crime  like  this." 

Mr.  Benjamin  looked  ingenuously  perplexed. 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  follow  you,  Miss  Thurwell," 
he  said,  shaking  his  head.  "  All  I  know  is  that  I 
can  prove  this  Mr.  Bernard  Brown,  or  Bernard 
Maddison,  or  whatever  else  he  chooses  to  call  him- 
self, guilty  of  that  murder.  That's  what  we  want, 
isn't  it?" 

A  cold  chill  passed  over  her,  and  she  was  com- 
pelled to  sink  into  the  chair  which  stood  by  her  side. 
Like  a  flash  she  suddenly  realized  the  impossibility 
of  convincing  such  men  as  these  of  his  innocence. 
Yet,  even  then,  the  worst  side  of  the  situation  did 
not  occur  to  her. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  put  it  in  this  way,  Mr. 
Levy,"  she  said.  "  I  gave  you  certain  instructions 
to  follow  out,  which  I  now  rescind.  I  wish  nothing 
further  done  in  the  matter." 


Il6  THE  NEW  TENANT 

Mr.  Benjamin's  face  was  a  study.  He  had  con- 
trived to  conjure  up  an  expression  which  combined 
the  blankest  surprise  with  the  keenest  disappoint- 
ment. Helen  began  to  feel  still  more  uncomfortable. 

"  Under  the  circumstances,"  she  said,  "  and  as 
you  seem  rather  disappointed,  I  will  pay  you  the  re- 
ward just  as  though  the  thing  had  gone  on." 

Mr.  Benjamin  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"  Do  you  know,  Miss  Thurwell,  that  you  are 
proposing  a  conspiracy  to  me  ?  " 

"  A  conspiracy !  "  she  repeated.  "  I  don't  under- 
stand." 

"  It's  very  simple,"  he  went  on  gravely.  "  I  have 
in  my  possession,  or  shortly  shall  have,  every  par- 
ticular of  this  Mr.  Maddison's  life.  I  can  show  the 
connection  between  him  and  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston, 
and,  in  short,  I  can  prove  him  guilty  of  murder. 
What  you  ask  me  to  do  is  to  suppress  this.  That  is 
the  moral  side  of  the  question.  Then,  with  regard 
to  the  practical  side,  if  this  thing  is  gone  on  with, 
we  shall  get  the  reward  you  promised  and,  what  is 
far  more  important  to  us,  a  reputation  which  we 
have  looked  forward  to  as  a  certain  foundation  for 
a  great  extension  of  our  business.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  drop  it,  we  get  simply  the  reward,  which, 
pardon  my  saying  so,  would  be  a  miserable  return 
for  all  our  labor.  That  is  how  the  matter  stands 
from  our  point  of  view.  I  think  I've  expressed  it 
fairly,  father?" 

Mr.  Levy,  who  had  assumed  a  far  more  contented 
expression,  solemnly  assented.  What  a  son  this 
was  of  his,  he  thought.  Bless  him ! 

Helen  was  very  pale,  and  her  heart  was  beating 
fast.  Why  had  she  come  to  this  place,  and  put  her- 
self in  the  power  of  these  men  ?  It  was  too  dreadful. 

"  I  do  not  desire  to  hear  a  word  of  Mr.  Maddi- 


THE   NEW  TENANT  117 

son's  history,"  she  said.  "  This  thing  must  be 
stopped.  I  have  my  cheque  book  with  me.  Can- 
not you  take  money  to  withdraw  from  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Benjamin  looked  at  his  father  gravely,  and 
Mr.  Levy  shook  his  head. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "  this  is  a  very 
serious  thing,  a  very  serious  thing." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Mr.  Benjamin,  "  I  was  going 
to  Scotland  Yard  for  a  warrant  this  morning." 

Helen  looked  from  one  to  the  other  appealmgly, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  Mr.  Benjamin  appeared  to 
be  somewhat  moved  thereby. 

"  Look  here,  dad,"  he  said,  "  suppose  we  go  into 
the  other  room  and  talk  this  thing  over  for  a  few 
minutes.  Miss  Thurwell  will  not  mind  excusing 
us." 

"  Oh,  no.    Only  don't  be  long !  "  she  pleaded. 

They  left  her  for  barely  five  minutes,  although  to 
her,  waiting  in  an  agony  of  impatience,  it  seemed 
much  longer.  When  they  returned,  they  both 
looked  very  solemn. 

"  We  have  talked  this  matter  over  thoroughly, 
Miss  Thurwell,"  said  Mr.  Benjamin,  taking  up  his 
old  position  at  the  desk,  "  and  we  cannot  help  see- 
ing that  it  is  a  great  risk  for  us  to  run  to  suppress 
our  information,  and  a  great  disappointment." 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so,"  interrupted  Mr.  Levy.  "  A 
great  risk,  and  a  great  disappointment !  " 

"  Still,  we  are  willing  and  anxious  to  help  you," 
Mr.  Benjamin  continued,  "  and,  if  you  like,  we  will 
do  so  on  these  terms.  If  you  like  to  give  us  a 
cheque  for  a  thousand  pounds,  we  will  agree  to  let 
the  matter  stand  over  for  the  present.  We  cannot 
give  you  any  undertaking  to  absolutely  destroy  or 
suppress  any  evidence  we  may  have  against  Mr. 
Maddison,  as  that  would  be  a  distinct  conspiracy, 


Ii8  THE   NEW  TENANT 

but  we  will  agree  to  suspend  our  present  action,  and 
to  do  nothing  without  communicating  with  you." 

She  moved  to  the  desk,  and  drew  out  her  cheque 
book. 

"  I  will  do  it,"  she  said.  "  Give  me  a  pen, 
please." 

There  was  not  the  slightest  sign  of  emotion  on 
either  of  their  faces.  They  received  the  cheque, 
bowed  her  out,  and  watched  her  disappear  into  the 
street  without  making  any  sign.  Then  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin's exultation  broke  out. 

"  Dad,  I  told  you  that  our  fortune  was  made, 
didn't  I.  Was  I  right  or  wrong?  " 

Mr.  Levy  was  so  overcome  with  parental  affec- 
tion, that  he  could  scarcely  command  his  voice.  But 
he  did  so  with  an  effort. 

'  You  were  right,  my  son,"  he  exclaimed.  "  You 
were  right,  Benjamin.  We  will  go  together  and 
cash  the  cheque." 


CHAPTER    XIX 

AN    UNPLEASANT   DISCOVERY    FOR    BERNARD    BROWN 

A  MARCH  wind  was  roaring  over  the  open  moor- 
land, driving  huge  masses  of  black  clouds  across  the 
angry  sky,  and  whistling  amongst  the  dark  patches 
of  pine  trees,  until  it  seemed  as  though  their  slender 
stems  must  snap  before  the  strain.  All  around  Fal- 
con's Nest  the  country,  not  yet  released  from  the 
iron  grip  of  a  late  winter,  lay  wasted  and  desolate ; 
and  the  heath,  which  had  lost  all  the  glowing  touch 
of  autumn,  faded  into  the  horizon  bare  and  color- 
less. Nowhere  was  there  any  relief  of  outline,  save 
where  the  white  front  of  Thurwell  Court  stretched 
plainly  visible  through  a  park  of  leafless  trees. 

And  of  all  the  hours  of  the  day  it  was  at  such  a 
season  the  most  depressing.  Faint  gleams  of  the 
lingering  day  still  hung  over  the  country,  strug- 
gling with  the  stormy  twilight,  and  a  pale,  wan 
glare,  varied  with  long  black  shadows,  moved 
swiftly  across  the  sea  and  the  moor — the  reflection 
of  the  flying  clouds  overhead. 

A  single  human  being,  the  figure  of  a  tall  man 
clad  in  an  ulster  buttoned  up  to  the  throat,  was 
making  his  way  across  the  open  country.  He 
walked  rapidly — and,  indeed,  there  was  nothing  to 
tempt  any  one  to  linger — and  his  destination  was 
obvious.  He  was  on  his  way  to  Falcon's  Nest. 

A  drearier  abode  than  it  appeared  that  afternoon 
never  raised  its  four  walls  to  the  sky.  The  grounds 

"9 


120  THE  NEW   TENANT 

which  surrounded  it  had  been  swept  bare  by  the 
storms  of  winter,  and  nothing  had  been  done  to  re- 
pair the  destruction  which  they  had  accomplished. 
Uprooted  shrubs  lay  dead  and  dying  upon  the  long 
dank  grass,  and  the  creepers  torn  from  the  walls 
hung  down  in  pitiful  confusion.  Every  window  re- 
flected back  the  same  blank  uninviting  gloom. 
There  was  no  light,  no  single  sign  of  habitation. 
Mr.  Thurwell  had  evidently  respected  his  tenant's 
wish  to  the  letter.  The  place  had  not  been  touched 
or  entered  during  his  absence. 

The  pedestrian,  Mr.  Bernard  Brown  himself, 
leaned  over  the  gate  for  a  moment,  silently  contem- 
plating the  uninviting  scene  with  a  grim  smile.  He 
had  reasons  of  his  own  for  being  satisfied  that  the 
place  had  not  been  interfered  with,  and  it  certainly 
seemed  as  though  such  were  the  case. 

After  a  few  minutes'  hesitation  he  drew  a  key 
from  his  pocket  and  fitted  it  in  the  lock.  There  was 
a  resistance  when  he  tried  to  turn  it  that  he  did  not 
understand.  Stooping  down,  he  suddenly  tried  the 
handle.  It  opened  smoothly.  The  gate  was  un- 
locked. He  withdrew  the  key  with  trembling  fin- 
gers. All  his  relief  at  the  dismantled  appearance  of 
the  cottage  had  disappeared.  A  strange  unquiet 
look  shone  in  his  eyes,  and  his  manner  suddenly 
became  nervous  and  hurried.  He  had  locked  the 
gate  on  his  departure,  he  was  sure,  and  Mr.  Thur- 
well's  steward  had  told  him  that  there  was  no 
duplicate  set  of  keys.  How  could  it  have  been 
opened  save  with  a  skeleton  key. 

He  walked  quickly  up  the  path  to  the  front  door. 
Here  a  greater  shock  still  awaited  him.  The  latch- 
key which  he  held  ready  in  his  hand  was  not  needed. 
He  tried  the  handle,  and  the  door  opened. 

Mr.  Brown  grew  white  to  the  lips,  and  he  shrank 


THE  NEW  TENANT  121 

back  as  though  afraid  or  reluctant  to  enter  the 
house.  The  door  stood  ajar.  He  pushed  it  open 
with  his  stick,  and  peered  in  upon  the  darkness. 
Everything  was  silent  as  the  grave.  He  listened  for 
a  moment,  and  then,  his  natural  courage  returning, 
he  stepped  inside,  and  closed  the  door  after  him. 
The  shutting  out  of  the  few  gleams  of  daylight 
which  lingered  in  the  sky  left  him  in  utter  darkness. 
Fumbling  in  his  pocket,  he  produced  a  wax  candle 
wrapped  in  a  piece  of  newspaper,  and  a  box  of 
matches,  one  of  which  he  carefully  struck. 

At  first  the  gloom  seemed  too  profound  to  be 
dispersed  by  the  feeble  flickering  light,  but  gradu- 
ally, as  his  eyes  became  accustomed  to  it,  he  began 
to  distinguish  the  more  familiar  objects.  Half 
fearfully  he  glanced  towards  the  door  on  the  right- 
hand  side.  It  stood  half  open.  There  was  no 
longer  room  for  any  doubt.  The  house  had  been 
opened  during  his  absence. 

The  full  realization  of  any  disaster  often  brings 
with  it  a  calm  which,  to  all  outward  appearance, 
contrasts  favorably  with  the  prior  state  of  anxiety. 
This  appeared  to  be  the  case  with  Mr.  Bernard 
Brown.  His  entrance  to  the  house  had  been  hesi- 
tating and  anxious,  but  as  soon  as  he  was  convinced 
that  what  he  dreamed  had  really  come  to  pass,  his 
nervousness  seemed  to  fall  away  from  him,  and  he 
was  his  old  self  again,  calm  and  resolute.  Holding 
the  flickering  candle  high  above  his  head,  he  moved 
steadily  forward  into  the  room  on  the  right-hand 
side  of  the  entrance. 

Everything  here  was  exactly  as  he  had  left  it. 
The  cases  filled  with  books,  some  half  emptied,  some 
untouched,  still  lay  about  the  floor,  with  the  dust 
thick  upon  them.  He  cast  one  swift  glance  around, 
and  then  walked  across  and  opened  the  door  of  the 


122  THE  NEW  TENANT 

small  inner  room.  The  sudden  draught  extin- 
guished his  candle,  and  he  found  himself  suddenly 
in  total  darkness.  The  closely  barred  shutters, 
which  protected  the  low  window,  were  securely 
fastened,  and  effectually  shut  out  the  lingering  rem- 
nants of  daylight.  Stooping  down,  he  re-lit  the 
candle  which  he  was  still  carrying,  and  holding  it 
high  over  his  head,  looked  anxiously  around.  One 
glance  was  sufficient.  In  the  corner  of  the  room 
opposite  to  him  was  a  small  table,  where  he  always 
kept  a  basin  of  cold  water  and  some  clean  towels. 
Round  here  the  carpet  had  been  torn  up,  and  rear- 
ranged, with  little  pretence  at  concealment.  Nearer 
the  window  stood  a  large  oak  cabinet,  the  most 
important  piece  of  furniture  in  the  room,  and  this 
he  saw  again  in  a  moment  had  been  tampered  with. 
It  had  been  moved  a  little  out  of  its  position,  and 
one  of  the  lower  drawers  stood  partly  open. 

Like  a  man  in  a  dream  he  slowly  walked  across 
to  it  and  drew  out  a  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket. 
The  final  test  had  yet  to  be  applied,  and  the  final 
blow  to  fall. 

He  unlocked  the  topmost  partition,  and  revealed 
a  number  of  small  drawers.  Eagerly  he  drew  out 
the  topmost  one,  and  looked  inside.  Then  he  knew 
the  worst.  It  was  empty.  There  was  no  longer  any 
doubt  whatever.  His  cottage  had  been  entered  by 
no  ordinary  housebreaker,  for  the  purpose  of  plun- 
der, but  with  a  set  of  false  keys,  and  with  a  far 
more  serious  object.  The  secret  on  which  more  than 
his  life  depended  was  gone! 


CHAPTER   XX 

GOD!   THAT  I   MAY  DIE ! 

FOR  a  certain  space  of  time,  which  seemed  to  him 
indefinite,  but  which  was  indeed  of  no  great  length, 
he  stood  there  stunned,  gazing  at  the  rifled  cabinet. 
Then,  as  consciousness  returned  to  him,  the  roar  of 
the  storm  without  fell  upon  his  ears,  and  struck 
some  strange  note  of  accord  with  the  tumult  in  his 
brain.  Turning  round,  he  unbarred  the  shutters, 
and,  opening  the  window,  stepped  outside.  With 
slow,  uncertain  steps  he  made  his  way  through  the 
dense  black  plantation  of  shrieking  fir  trees,  and  out 
on  to  the  cliffs.  Here  he  paused,  and  stood  quite 
still,  looking  across  the  sea.  There  was  no  light  in 
the  sky,  but  the  veil  of  absolute  darkness  had  not 
yet  fallen  upon  the  earth.  Far  away  on  the  horizon 
was  a  lurid  patch  of  deep  yellow  storm-clouds,  cast- 
ing a  faint  glimmer  upon  the  foaming  sea,  which 
seemed  to  leap  up  in  a  weird  monotonous  joy  to 
catch  the  unearthly  light.  From  inland,  rolling 
across  the  moorland,  came  phantom-like  masses  of 
vaporous  cloud,  driven  on  by  the  fierce  wind  which 
boomed  across  the  open  country,  and  shrieked  and 
yelled  amongst  the  pine  plantations  as  though  mad 
with  a  sudden  hellish  joy.  On  the  verge  of  the  cliff 
he  stretched  out  his  arms,  as  though  to  welcome  the 
wild  din  of  the  night.  The  thunder  of  the  ocean, 
seething  and  leaping  against  the  rocks  below,  shook 
the  air  around  him.  The  salt  spray  leaped  up  into 

"3 


124  THE   NEW  TENANT 

his  white  face,  and  the  winds  blew  against  him,  and 
the  passionate  cry  of  saddened  nature  rang  in  his 
deafened  ears.  At  that  moment  those  things  were 
a  joy  to  him. 

And  there  came  to  him  then  something  of  that 
strange  sweet  calm  which  lays  its  soothing  hand  for 
a  moment  upon  those  who  stand  face  to  face  with 
death,  or  any  other  mighty  crisis.  Looking  stead- 
fastly far  away,  beyond  the  foaming  waste  of 
waters  to  where  one  faint  streak  of  stormlight 
shone  on  the  horizon,  pictures  of  the  past  began  to 
rise  up  before  his  eyes.  He  saw  himself  again  a 
happy,  light-hearted  child,  riding  gaily  upon  his 
father's  shoulder,  and  laughing  up  into  the  beauti- 
ful face  of  his  youthful  mother.  The  memories  of 
that  time,  and  of  his  first  home,  came  back  to  him 
with  a  peculiar  freshness  and  fragrance,  like  a  paint- 
ing by  one  of  the  old  masters,  perfect  in  design, 
and  with  its  deep  rich  coloring  softened  and  mel- 
lowed by  age.  He  remembered  the  bright  beauty  of 
those  sunny  southern  gardens,  where  he  had  passed 
long  hours  listening  to  the  gentle  splashing  of  the 
water  in  the  worn  grey  fountain  bowl,  and  breath- 
ing in  the  soft  spring-like  air,  faint  with  the  sweet- 
ness of  Roman  violets.  And,  half  unconsciously, 
his  thoughts  travelled  on  to  the  time  when  all  the 
pure  beauty  of  his  surroundings — for  his  had  been 
an  artist's  home — had  begun  to  have  a  distinct 
meaning  for  him,  and  in  the  fervor  of  an  esthetic 
and  unusually  thoughtful  youth,  he  had  dreamed, 
and  felt,  and  tasted  deep  of  pleasures  which  the 
world  yields  only  to  those  who  stoop  to  listen  to  her 
secrets,  with  the  quickened  sensibilities  and  glowing 
imagination  of  the  artist — one  of  her  own  children. 
He  had  read  her  in  such  a  way  that  he  found  him- 
self struggling,  even  in  early  boyhood,  for  some 


THE   NEW   TENANT  125 

means  of  expression — but  at  tRat  time  none  had 
come  to  him.  The  fruits  of  his  later  life  had  been 
the  result  of  his  early  experience,  but  how  embit- 
tered, how  saddened  by  the  unchanging  gloom, 
which,  at  one  period,  had  seemed  as  though  it  must 
dry  up  for  ever  all  enthusiasm  from  his  boyish 
heart.  What  a  fire  of  passions  had  blazed  up  and 
died  away  within  him;  and  as  he  thought  of  that 
sudden  dying  away,  he  thought  of  the  moment  when 
they  had  been  quenched  for  ever,  and  of  the  voice 
which  had  quenched  them.  Again  he  crouched  on 
his  knees  by  the  side  of  the  sofa  drawn  up  close  to 
the  high  open  windows  of  the  Italian  villa,  and  felt 
that  thin  white  hand  laid  gently  upon  his  trembling 
lips,  checking  in  a  moment  the  flood  of  angry  words 
which  in  his  heart  had  been  but  the  prelude  to  a 
curse.  The  calm  of  that  death-white  face,  with  its 
marble  passionless  pallor  and  saint-like  beauty,  lin- 
gered still,  faithfully  treasured  up  in  the  rich  store- 
house of  his  memory.  Death  alone  would  wipe  it 
out.  It  was  one  of  the  experiences  of  his  life, 
written  alike  into  his  undying  recollection,  and  into 
his  heart. 

And  then  had  come  that  period  of  severe  struggle 
with  himself,  out  of  which  he  had  emerged  not  only 
a  conqueror,  but  with  all  the  spoils  of  conquest. 
For  he  had  found  himself,  after  the  battle  was 
fought  out  and  won,  possessed  of  a  more  trium- 
phant self-control,  and  a  complete  mastery  over 
those  fierce  earthly  passions  which,  had  they  held 
sway  for  long,  would  in  time  most  surely  have 
weakened  that  higher  and  purer  part  of  his  nature 
from  which  all  the  good  of  his  life  had  come.  It 
was,  indeed,  in  some  measure  owing  to  the  whole- 
some discipline  of  this  struggle  that  he  had  found 
at  last  the  long-sought-for  gift  of  expression,  and, 


126  THE   NEW  TENANT 

taking  up  the  pen,  had  sent  forth  golden  words  and 
thoughts  into  an  age  where  such  metal  was  rare  in- 
deed. Always  there  had  been  this  dark  cloud  of 
anxiety  looming  over  him,  and  leading  him  into 
many  countries  and  constantly  denying  him  the 
peace  for  which  he  longed.  Then  had  come  the 
climax  of  it  all,  the  tragedy  which  had  thrown  over 
him  the  lowering  cloud  of  a  hideous  danger.  Fail- 
ure was  his.  The  moment  of  trial  had  come,  and  he 
had  been  unequal  to  it ;  and  day  and  night  there  rang 
ever  in  his  ears  the  faint  far-off  whisper  of  those 
tremulous  lips,  and  the  pleading  light  in  those  burn- 
ing eyes  seemed  ever  before  him.  Again  he  felt 
the  touch  of  that  icy  cold  hand,  and  again  he  re- 
membered the  words  of  the  oath  which,  alas!  he 
had  not  kept.  Oh,  it  was  horrible ! 

Once  more  his  thoughts  moved  on  a  stage,  and 
this  time  they  reached  their  climax.  Before  his 
fixed  eyes  there  floated  the  image  of  a  sweet,  wist- 
ful face  glowing  with  healthy  physical  life,  and  yet 
with  all  that  delicate  refinement  of  coloring  and 
feature  which  had  made  her  face  linger  in  his 
artist's  memory  for  years  before  she  had  dwelt  in 
his  man's  heart.  It  was  a  torture  of  hell,  this,  that 
the  fairest  and  sweetest  part  of  a  man's  life — his 
love — should  come  to  him  at  such  a  time.  And  then 
for  one  brief  moment  all  memory  of  his  misery 
passed  away  from  him,  and  his  whole  being  became 
absorbed  in  a  luxury  of  recollection.  He  thought 
of  the  change  which  his  love  had  wrought  in  him. 
What  had  life  been  before  ?  A  long  series  of  artistic 
and  philosophical  abstractions,  bringing  their  own 
peculiar  content,  but  a  content  never  free  from  dis- 
quieting thought  and  restless  doubts.  How  could 
it  be  otherwise?  Was  he  not  human  like  other 
men  ?  Asceticism  and  intellect,  and  a  certain  purity 


THE  NEW  TENANT  127 

of  life  which  an  almost  epicurean  refinement  had 
rendered  beautiful  to  him,  these,  easily  keeping  in 
sway  his  passionate  temperament  through  all  the 
long  years  of  his  life,  now  only  served  to  fan  the 
flame  of  that  great  pure  love  which  had  suddenly 
leaped  up  within  him,  a  blazing,  unquenchable  fire. 
Human  emotion  once  aroused,  had  thrilled  through 
all  his  being  with  a  sweet,  heart-stirring  music,  and 
his  whole  nature  was  shaking  from  its  very  founda- 
tion. To  him  such  a  love  seemed  like  the  rounding 
of  his  life,  the  panacea  for  all  that  vague  disquiet 
which,  even  in  the  moments  of  most  perfect  intel- 
lectual serenity,  had  sometimes  disturbed  him.  The 
love  of  such  a  man  was  no  light  thing.  It  had 
mingled  with  his  heart's  blood,  with  the  very 
essence  of  all  his  being.  No  death,  no  annihilation 
was  possible  for  it.  It  was  a  part  of  himself,  woven 
unchangeably  into  his  life  in  a  glowing  skein,  the 
brilliant  colors  of  which  could  never  fade.  He 
looked  into  the  future,  golden  with  the  light  of  such 
a  love,  and  he  saw  a  vision  of  perfect  happiness,  of 
joy  beyond  all  expression,  of  deep,  calm  content, 
surpassing  anything  which  he  had  known.  <  Hand  in 
hand  he  saw  two  figures,  himself  and  her,  gliding 
through  the  years  with  a  sort  of  effortless  energy, 
tasting  together  of  everything  in  life  that  was  sweet, 
and  pure,  and  beautiful;  scattering  all  trouble  and 
worldly  vexation  to  the  winds,  by  the  touchstone 
of  their  undying  love.  There  was  intoxication — 
ethereal  intoxication  in  such  a  vision.  The  winds 
blew  against  him,  and  the  torrents  of  driven  rain, 
cold  and  stinging,  dashed  themselves  against  his 
pale,  steadfast  face.  Down  on  the  beach  below  the 
mad  sea  was  thundering  upon  the  cliffs,  flinging  its 
w,hite  spray  so  high  that  it  glittered  like  specks  of 
luminous  white  light  against  the  black  waters.  Yet 


128  THE   NEW  TENANT 

he  noticed  none  of  it.  Until  the  brilliancy  of  that 
vision  which  glowed  before  him  faded,  nothing  ex- 
ternal could  withdraw  his  thoughts. 

And  fade  away  it  did  at  last,  and  neither  the  cold 
rain  nor  the  howling  wind  had  given  him  such  a 
chill  as  crept  through  all  his  body,  when  memory 
and  realization  drove  forth  this  sweet  flower  of  his 
imagination.  All  the  cruel  hopelessness,  the  horror 
of  his  position,  rushed  in  upon  him  like  a  foul  night- 
mare. He  saw  himself  shunned  and  despised,  the 
faces  of  all  men  averted  from  him ;  all  that  had  gone 
to  make  his  life  worthy,  and  even  famous,  forgotten 
in  the  stigma  of  an  awful  crime.  He  saw  her  eager, 
beautiful  face,  white  and  convulsed  with  horror, 
shrinking  away  from  him  as  from  some  loathsome 
object.  God!  it  was  madness  to  think  of  it!  Let 
this  thought  go  from  him,  fade  away  from  his  reel- 
ing brain,  or  he  would  surely  go  mad. 

Heedless  of  the  fury  of  the  winds  that  roared 
over  the  moorland,  and  sobbed  and  shrieked  in  the 
pine  grove,  he  threw  himself  upon  his  knees  close  to 
the  very  verge  of  the  cliff,  and  stretched  out  his 
hands  to  the  darkened  heavens  in  a  passionate  ges- 
ture of  despair.  It  was  the  first  time  during  all  the 
fierce  troubles  of  a  stormy  life  that  he  had  shrunk 
down,  beaten  for  the  moment  by  the  utter  hopeless- 
ness of  the  struggle  which  seemed  to  him  now  fast 
drawing  toward  its  end. 

"  God!  that  I  may  die!  "  he  moaned.  "  That  I 
may  die!  " 

And,  as  though  in  answer  to  his  prayer,  life  for 
him  suddenly  became  a  doubtful  thing.  A  wild  gust 
of  wind  had  uprooted  a  young  fir  tree  from  the 
plantation,  and  bearing  it  with  a  savage  glee  toward 
the  cliff  side,  dashed  it  against  the  kneeling  man. 
There  was  no  chance  for  him  against  it.  Over  they 


THE  NEW  TENANT  129 

went,  man  and  tree  together,  to  all  appearance 
bound  for  inevitable  destruction. 

Even  in  that  second,  when  he  felt  himself  being 
hurled  over  the  cliff,  by  what  force  he  knew  not, 
the  consciousness  of  the  sudden  granting  of  his 
prayer  flashed  across  his  mind,  and,  strange  though 
it  may  seem,  brought  with  it  a  deep  content.  It 
was  as  he  would  have  it  be,  death  sudden  and  unfelt. 
But  following  close  upon  it  came  another  thought, 
so  swiftly  works  the  brain  in  the  time  of  a  great 
crisis.  He  would  be  found  dead,  and  everyone,  in 
the  light  of  what  would  soon  be  made  known,  would 
surely  call  it  suicide.  She  would  think  so,  too. 
Death  on  such  terms  he  would  not  willingly  have. 

Effort  followed  swiftly  upon  thought.  He 
clutched  wildly  at  the  cliff  side  during  the  first  sec- 
ond of  that  flying  descent,  and  the  wind  bending  it 
almost  double,  brought  a  stunted  fir  tree  sapling 
within  his  reach.  He  grasped  it,  and  he  was  saved. 
Only  a  yard  or  two  away,  the  cliff  side  was  black 
with  them  growing  so  closely  together  that  he  pulled 
himself  with  ease  from  one  to  another  till  he  climbed 
over  the  cliff  top,  and  stood  again  upright  on  the 
ground. 

His  hands  were  bleeding,  and  his  clothes  were 
hanging  round  him  in  rags.  Yet,  in  a  certain  sense, 
his  narrow  escape  had  done  him  good,  for  it  had 
brought  very  vividly  before  him  the  impiety  of  his 
prayer.  He  had  given  way  too  long  to  maddening 
thoughts,  and  they  had  unnerved  him.  With  the 
consciousness  of  his  escape,  all  the  manliness  of  his 
nature  reasserted  itself.  He  had  faced  this  thing  so 
long  that  he  would  face  it  now  to  the  end.  Let  it 
come  when  it  would,  he  would  summon  up  all  his 
strength,  and  meet  it  like  a  man.  After  death  was 
peace  for  everlasting.  God  keep  him  in  that  faith ! 


130  THE  NEW  TENANT 

He  turned  away  from  the  cliff,  and  walked  quickly 
back  to  the  cottage,  making  his  plans  as  he  went. 
First  he  changed  all  his  clothes,  and  then  opening 
again  his  rifled  cabinet,  he  transferred  the  remain- 
ing papers  to  a  small  handbag.  These  were  all  his 
preparations,  but  when  he  stepped  out  again  and 
walked  down  the  path  of  his  garden,  a  change  had 
fallen  upon  the  earth.  Faint  gleams  of  dawn  were 
breaking  through  the  eastern  sky,  and  though  the 
sea  was  still  troubled  and  crested  with  white-foamed 
breakers,  the  wind  had  gone  down.  Compared  with 
the  violence  of  the  storm  a  few  hours  back,  the  still- 
ness of  the  gray  twilight  was  full  of  a  peculiar 
impressiveness.  Peace  after  the  storm.  Rest  after 
trouble. 

And  something  of  this  saddened  peace  crept  into 
the  heart  of  the  solitary  figure  crossing  the  moor- 
land— on  his  way  back  to  face  a  doom  which  seemed 
closing  in  fast  around  him. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

SIR   ALLAN    BEAUMERVILLE    HAS    A    CALLER 

SIR  ALLAN  BEAUMERVILLE,  Bart,  dilettante  phy- 
sician and  man  of  fashion,  was,  on  the  whole,  one 
of  the  most  popular  men  in  London  society.  He 
was  rich,  of  distinguished  appearance,  had  charming 
manners,  and  was  a  bachelor,  which  combination 
might  possibly  account  in  some  measure  for  the  high 
esteem  in  which  he  was  held  amongst  the  opposite 
sex.  He  had  made  his  debut  in  society  quite  late  in 
life,  for  he  had  succeeded  to  the  baronetcy,  which 
was  one  of  the  oldest  and  richest  in  the  country, 
unexpectedly ;  and,  as  a  young  man,  London — fash- 
ionable London,  at  any  rate — had  seen  or  known 
nothing  of  him.  Nor,  indeed,  had  he  at  any  time 
had  much  to  say  to  anyone  about  the  earlier  period 
of  his  life.  It  was  generally  understood  that  he  had 
lived  abroad,  and  that  he  had  been  in  some  sort  of 
practice,  or  how  else  could  he  have  acquired  his 
knowledge  of  the  technical  part  of  his  profession? 
Beyond  this,  nothing  was  known;  and  although  he 
was  evidently  a  traveled  man,  having  much  to  say 
at  times  about  all  the  interesting  parts  of  Southern 
Europe,  no  one  ever  remembered  meeting  him  any- 
where. For  the  rest,  he  had  passed  through  none 
of  the  curriculum  of  English  youth.  No  public 
school  had  had  his  name  upon  its  books,  nor  had  he 
even  graduated  in  his  own  country.  But  he  had 
taken  a  very  high  degree  indeed  at  Heidelberg, 


132  THE  NEW  TENANT 

which  had  won  him  considerable  respect  among 
those  who  knew  anything  about  such  matters,  and 
his  diplomas  included  half  the  letters  of  the  alpha- 
bet, and  were  undeniable.  And  so  when  he  had 
suddenly  appeared  in  London  on  the  death  of  his 
uncle  and  cousin,  a  middle-aged,  distinguished  gen- 
tleman, with  manners  a  little  foreign,  but  in  their 
way  perfect,  society  had  voted  him  a  great  improve- 
ment on  the  former  baronet,  and  had  taken  him  by 
the  hand  at  once.  That  was  a  good  many  years  ago, 
and  very  soon  after  his  first  introduction  to  the  Lon- 
don world  he  had  become  a  notable  figure  in  it.  He 
had  never  missed  a  town  season,  and  at  all  its  chief 
functions  was  a  well-known  and  popular  figure,  al- 
ways among  the  best  and  most  exclusive  set,  and 
always  welcome  there.  He  had  a  yacht  at  Cowes,  a 
share  in  a  Scotch  moor,  a  dozen  or  so  hunters 
at  his  little  place  near  Melton,  a  shooting  box  in 
Derbyshire,  and  a  fine  old  mansion  and  estate  in 
Kent,  where  everyone  liked  to  be  asked ;  and  where 
he  had  more  than  once  had  the  honor  of  entertain- 
ing royalty.  There  was  only  one  thing  in  the  world 
wanted  to  make  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  perfect, 
women  declared,  and  that  one  thing  was  a  wife. 
But  although  no  one  appeared  to  appreciate  more 
highly  the  charms  of  feminine  society — as  he 
showed  in  more  ways  than  one,  both  in  St.  John's 
Wood  and  in  Belgravia — he  had  never  shown  the 
least  inclination  to  perform  his  duty  to  society  in 
this  respect.  How  he  managed  to  steer  clear  of  the 
many  snares  and  pitfalls  laid  for  him  in  the  course 
of  his  career  puzzled  a  good  many  men.  But  he  did 
it,  and  what  was  more  remarkable  still,  he  made  no 
enemies.  He  had  friendships  among  the  other  sex 
such  as  no  man  save  he  dared  have  indulged  in  to  a 
like  extent ;  but  with  infinite  skill  he  always  seemed 


THE  NEW  TENANT  133 

to  be  able  to  drop  some  delicate  insinuation  as  to  the 
utter  absence  of  any  matrimonial  intention  on  his 
part,  which  left  no  room  for  doubt  or  hope.  He 
was,  in  short,  possessed  of  admirable  powers  of 
diplomacy  which  never  failed  him. 

Of  course  his  impregnability  gave  rise  to  all  man- 
ner of  stories.  He  had  been  jilted  in  his  youth,  he 
had  a  wife  alive,  or  he  had  had  one,  and  she  was 
dead,  none  of  which  rumors  met  any  large  amount 
of  credence.  As  to  the  first,  the  idea  of  anyone  jilt- 
ing Sir  Allan  Beaumerville,  even  before  his  coming 
into  the  baronetcy,  found  no  favor  in  the  feminine 
world.  No  woman  could  have  shown  such  ill  judg- 
ment as  that ;  and,  besides,  he  had  very  little  of  the 
melancholy  which  is  generally  supposed  to  attend 
upon  such  a  disappointment.  As  to  the  second,  it 
was  never  seriously  entertained,  for  if  any  woman 
had  once  claimed  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  as  a  hus- 
band, she  was  scarcely  likely  to  keep  away  from  him, 
especially  now  that  he  was  occupying  such  a  distin- 
guished position.  The  third  was  quite  out  of  the 
question,  for  even  had  he  ever  been  married — which 
nobody  believed — he  was  scarcely  the  sort  of  man 
to  wear  the  willow  all  his  life,  and,  indeed,  it  was 
very  evident  that  he  was  not  doing  anything  of  the 
sort.  Everyone  knew  of  a  certain  little  establish- 
ment beyond  Kensington  way,  where  Sir  Allan's 
brougham  was  often  seen,  but  of  course  no  one 
thought  the  worse  of  him  for  that.  And  without  a 
doubt,  if  Sir  Allan  had  yielded  to  that  gentle  wish 
so  often  expressed,  and  commenced  domestic  life  in 
a  more  conventional  manner  in  the  great  house  at 
Grosvenor  Square,  he  would  have  forfeited  at  once 
a  great  deal  of  his  popularity,  at  any  rate  among  the 
feminine  part  of  his  acquaintance.  As  it  was,  there 
was  always  a  faint  hope  of  winning  him  to  add  a 


134  THE  NEW  TENANT 

zest  to  his  delightful  companionship,  and  Sir  Allan, 
who  was  a  very  shrewd  man,  was  perfectly  aware 
of  this.  He  was  a  sybarite  of  refined  taste,  with  an 
exquisite  appreciation  of  the  finer  and  more  artistic 
pleasures  of  life;  and  the  society  of  educated  and 
well-bred  women  was  one  of  the  chief  of  them. 
Rather  than  run  any  risk  of  deterioration  in  its 
quality  he  preferred  to  let  things  remain  as  they 
were,  and  that  he  might  enjoy  it  the  more  thor- 
oughly without  the  restraint  placed  upon  other  men, 
was  the  sole  reason  that  he  had  not  altogether  aban- 
doned his  profession.  He  never  took  any  fee,  nor 
did  he  ever  accept  any  casual  patient.  But  on  cer- 
tain days  of  the  week,  at  certain  hours,  he  was  at 
home  as  a  physician  to  certain  of  his  lady  acquaint- 
ances to  whom  he  had  already  offered  his  services. 
The  number  was  always  few,  for  the  invitations 
were  rarely  given,  and  the  patients  generally  re- 
mained upon  the  sick  list  for  an  indefinite  period. 
But  there  were  few  invitations  more  sought  after. 
Something — perhaps  the  very  slight  spice  of  impro- 
priety which  certain  prudes,  who  had  not  been  asked, 
affected  to  see  in  such  an  arrangement — had  made 
them  the  fashion;  and,  then,  Sir  Allan  was  unde- 
niably clever.  Altogether,  the  idea  was  a  great  suc- 
cess for  him. 

It  had  been  one  of  Sir  Allan's  afternoon  recep- 
tions, and,  as  usual,  every  patient  on  his  list  had 
paid  him  a  visit.  Having  seen  the  last  and  most 
favored  to  her  carriage,  Sir  Allan  returned  to  his 
study  with  a  slight  smile  on  his  handsome  face,  and 
the  recollection  of  some  delightfully  confidential  lit- 
tle speeches  still  tingling  in  his  ears.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  on  the  hearth  rug  recalling  them,  then  he 
looked  round  the  room  and  rang  the  bell.  A  serv- 
ant appeared  almost  immediately. 


THE   NEW  TENANT  135 

"  Clear  these  things  away,  Morton,"  Sir  Allan 
said,  pointing  to  some  dainty  marvels  of  china  and 
a  Japanese  teapot,  which  stood  on  a  little  round 
table  between  two  chairs,  "  and  bring  me  a  loose 
jacket  from  my  room.  I  am  dining  in  Downing 
Street  to-night,  and  shall  not  want  to  dress  before 
eight." 

The  man  obeyed,  and  Sir  Allan,  lighting  a  thick 
Egyptian  cigarette,  took  up  a  French  novel,  and 
stretched  himself  out  in  his  easy  chair. 

"  You  are  not  at  home  to  anyone  else  this  after- 
noon, sir  ?  "  the  servant  inquired  before  quitting  the 
room. 

"  Certainly  not,"  Sir  Allan  answered,  yawning. 
"  Has  anyone  been  inquiring  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Lady  or  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Gentleman,  sir — at  least,  I  think  so.  He  looks 
like  one." 

"  Any  name?" 

"  I  didn't  inquire,  sir.  I  said  that  you  were  not  at 
home;  but,  as  he  seemed  very  pressing,  I  promised 
to  try  and  ascertain  when  you  would  be  at  liberty." 

"  Ask  him  his  name,"  Sir  Allan  directed. 

The  man  withdrew,  and  returned  in  a  moment  or 
two  looking  a  little  puzzled. 

"  His  name  is  Brown,  sir — Mr.  Bernard  Brown." 

Sir  Allan  was  seldom  clumsy  in  little  things,  but 
at  that  moment  he  dropped  the  book  which  he  had 
been  reading  upon  the  floor.  The  servant  hastened 
toward  it,  but  Sir  Allan  waved  him  away.  He  pre- 
ferred to  pick  it  up  himself. 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  lost  my  place,"  he  remarked, 
turning  over  the  leaves.  "  You  can  show  Mr. 
Brown  in  here,  Morton,"  he  added.  "  I  may  as 
well  see  what  he  wants." 


136  THE   NEW   TENANT 

The  man  withdrew,  and  Sir  Allan  recommenced 
the  chapter.  Then  the  door  was  opened  again,  and 
the  visitor  was  admitted.  Sir  Allan  laid  the  paper 
knife  carefully  in  his  place,  and  shutting  the  book, 
rose  from  his  chair. 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  he  said,  "  I  am  very  pleased  to  see 
you.  Come  and  take  a  seat  here." 

He  stood  up  in  an  easy  attitude  upon  the  hearth- 
rug, and  pointed  with  a  smile  to  the  chair  which  his 
last  visitor  had  occupied.  But  he  did  not  offer  his 
hand  to  Mr.  Brown,  nor  did  Mr.  Brown  appear  to 
expect  it. 

The  apartment  was  in  the  semi-gloom  of  twilight, 
for  the  silver  lamp  burning  on  the  bracket  by  Sir 
Allan's  side  was  covered  with  a  rose-colored  shade, 
and  threw  all  its  light  downward.  The  art  treas- 
ures with  which  the  room  was  crowded,  and  the 
almost  voluptuous  grace  of  its  adornment  and  color- 
ing, were  more  suggested  than  seen.  Mr.  Brown, 
who  had  advanced  only  a  few  steps  from  the  closed 
door,  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  looked  a 
little  dazed. 

"  Do  you  live  in  darkness  ?  "  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
"  I  want  to  see  your  face." 

Sir  Allan  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  turned  up 
the  lamp  a  little  higher  than  it  was.  The  faces 
of  the  two  men  were  now  distinctly  visible  to  each 
other,  and  the  contrast  between  them  was  rather 
startling.  Sir  Allan's  was  placid,  courteous,  and 
inquiring.  Mr.  Brown's  was  white  almost  to 
ghastliness,  and  his  eyes  were  burning  with  a 
strange  light. 

"  I  wish  you'd  sit  down,  my  dear  fellow !  "  Sir 
Allan  remarked  in  a  tone  of  good-natured  remon- 
strance. "  It  worries  me  to  see  you  standing  there, 
and  I'm  sure  you  look  tired  enough." 


THE  NEW  TENANT  137 

Mr.  Brown  took  no  notice  whatever  of  the  invita- 
tion. 

"  I  have  come  to  see  you,  Sir  Allan  Beaumer- 
ville,"  he  said  slowly,  "  to  lay  certain  facts  before 
you,  and  to  ask  your  advice  concerning  them — as  a 
disinterested  party." 

"  Very  happy,  I'm  sure,  to  do  tKe  best  I  can,"  Sir 
Allan  murmured,  lighting  a  fresh  cigarette.  "  I 
wish  you'd  sit  down  to  it,  though.  I  suppose  it's 
about  that  murder  we  were  mixed  up  in?  Horrid 
affair  it  was." 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  very  horrid  affair,"  Mr.  Brown 
repeated  slowly. 

"  They  haven't  caught  the  man  yet,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  They  have  not — yet." 

Sir  Allan  shrugged  his  fine  shoulders. 

"  I  fancy  their  chance  is  a  poor  one  now,  then," 
he  remarked,  emitting  a  little  cloud  of  smoke  from 
his  lips,  and  watching  it  curl  upward  in  a  faint  blue 
wreath  to  the  ceiling.  "  How  differently  they  man- 
age affairs  on  the  Continent!  Such  a  crime  would 
not  go  undetected  a  day  there." 

"  It  will  not  be  undetected  here  many  more 
days,"  Mr.  Brown  said.  "  My  own  belief  is  that  a 
warrant  is  already  issued  for  the  apprehension  of 
the  supposed  murderer,  and  I  should  not  be  sur- 
prised to  hear  that  at  this  very  moment  the  police 
were  watching  this  house." 

Sir  Allan  looked  hard  at  his  guest,  and  elevated 
his  eyebrows. 

"  This  is  a  very  serious  matter,  Mr.  Brown,"  he 
said,  looking  at  him  steadily  in  the  face.  "  Do  I 
understand ?  " 

"  I  will  explain,"  Mr.  Brown  interrupted  quietly. 
"  On  my  return  to  Falcon's  Nest  yesterday,  I  find 
that  during  my  absence  the  cottage  has  been  entered, 


138  THE   NEW  TENANT 

apparently  by  some  one  in  authority,  for  keys  have 
been  used.  My  cabinet  has  been  forced  open,  and  a 
number  of  my  private  letters  and  papers  have  been 
taken  away.  Certain  other  investigations  have  also 
been  made,  obviously  with  the  same  object." 

Sir  Allan  maintained  his  attitude  of  polite  atten- 
tion, but  he  had  stopped  smoking,  and  his  cigarette 
was  burning  unnoticed  between  his  fingers. 

"  I  scarcely  see  the  connection  yet,"  he  said 
suavely.  "  No  doubt  I  am  a  little  dense.  You 
speak  about  a  number  of  private  papers  having  been 
abstracted  from  your  cabinet.  Do  I  understand — is 
it  possible  that  anything  in  those  papers  could  lead 
people  to  fix  upon  you  as  the  murderer  of  Sir 
Geoffrey  Kynaston  ?  " 

The  two  men  looked  steadily  into  each  other's 
faces.  There  was  nothing  in  Sir  Allan's  expression 
beyond  a  slightly  shocked  surprise;  in  Mr.  Brown's 
there  was  a  very  curious  mixture  indeed. 

"  Most  certainly !  "  was  the  quiet  reply.  "  Those 
letters  plainly  point  out  a  motive  for  my  having 
committed  the  crime." 

"  They  are  from " 

"Stop!" 

Sir  Allan  started.  The  word  had  burst  from 
Mr.  Brown's  lips  with  a  passion  which  his  former 
quietude  rendered  the  more  remarkable.  There  was 
a  dead  silence  between  them  for  fully  a  minute. 
Then  Mr.  Brown,  having  resumed  his  former  man- 
ner, spoke  again. 

"  Those  letters,"  he  said,  "  tell  the  story  of  a  cer- 
tain episode  in  the  life  of  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston. 
No  other  person  is  mentioned  or  alluded  to  in  them. 
Yet  the  fact  of  their  having  been  found  in  my  pos- 
session makes  them  strong  evidence  against  me." 

Sir  Allan  nodded. 


THE  NEW  TENANT  139 

"  I  don't  know  why  on  earth  you've  come  to  me 
for  advice,"  he  remarked.  "  I'm  not  a  lawyer." 

"  Neither  do  I  quite  know.  Still,  I  have  come ; 
and,  as  I  am  here,  give  it  me." 

"  In  a  word,  then — bolt,"  said  Sir  Allan  lacon- 
ically. 

"  That  is  your  advice,  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  anything  else  to  do.  I  don't  ask  you 
whether  you  are  guilty  or  not,  and  I  do  ask  myself 
whether  I  am  doing  my  duty  in  giving  you  any 
advice  calculated  to  defeat  the  ends  of  justice.  I 
simply  consider  the  facts,  and  tell  you  what  I  should 
do  if  I  were  in  your  unfortunate  position.  I  should 
bolt." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir  Allan,  for  your  advice  so  far," 
Mr.  Brown  said  quietly.  "  There  is  just  one  little 
complication,  however,  which  I  wish  to  tell  you  of." 

"  Yes.  Might  I  trouble  you  to  put  the  matter  in 
as  short  a  form  as  possible,  then  ?  "  Sir  Allan  re- 
marked, looking  at  his  watch.  "  I  am  dining  with 
the  Prime  Minister  to-night,  and  it  is  time  I  com- 
menced to  dress." 

"  I  will  not  detain  you  much  longer,"  Mr.  Brown 
said.  "  The  complication,  I  fear,  will  scarcely  in- 
terest you,  for  it  is  a  sentimental  one.  If  I  fled  from 
England  to-night,  I  should  leave  behind  me  the 
woman  I  love." 

"  Then  why  the  devil  don't  you  take  her  with 
you  ?  "  asked  Sir  Allan,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders. "  She'll  go  right  enough  if  you  ask  her. 
Women  like  a  little  mystery." 

"  The  woman  whom  I  love  appears  to  be  of  a  dif- 
ferent class  to  those  from  whom  you  have  drawn 
your  experience,"  Mr.  Brown  answered  quietly.  "  I 
am  not  married  to  her." 

Sir  Allan  shrugged  his  shoulders  lightly. 


140  THE   NEW   TENANT 

"  Well,  if  she's  a  prude,  and  won't  go,  and  you 
haven't  pluck  enough  to  run  away  with  her,  I  don't 
know  how  to  advise  you,"  he  remarked. 

Mr.  Brown  looked  steadily  into  the  other's  face. 
Sir  Allan  met  his  gaze  blandly. 

"  Your  speech,  Sir  Allan,  betrays  a  cynicism 
which  I  believe  is  greatly  in  fashion  just  now,"  Mr. 
Brown  said  slowly.  "  Sometimes  it  is  altogether 
assumed,  sometimes  it  is  only  a  thin  veneer  adopted 
in  obedience  to  the  decree  of  fashion.  Believing 
that,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  the  latter  is  the 
case,  I  beg  you  to  look  back  into  your  past  life,  and 
recall,  if  possible,  some  of  its  emotions.  Again  I 
tell  you  that  if  I  fly  from  England,  I  shall  leave  be- 
hind me  the  woman  I  dearly  love.  I  have  come  to 
you,  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville,  with  an  effort.  I  lay 
all  these  facts  before  you,  and  I  ask  you  to  decide 
for  me.  What  shall  I  do?" 

"  And  I  repeat,  my  dear  fellow,"  answered  Sir 
Allan  suavely,  "  that  the  only  advice  I  can  give  you 
is,  to  leave  England  to-night !  " 

Mr.  Brown  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
turned  away  toward  the  door  without  a  word  or 
gesture  of  farewell. 

"  By  the  by,"  Sir  Allan  remarked,  "  one  moment, 
Mr.  Brown !  Have  you  any  objection  to  telling  me 
the  name  of  the  lady  who  has  been  honored  with 
your  affection.  Do  I  know  her  ?  " 

"  You  do.  Her  name  is  no  concern  of  yours, 
though." 

Suddenly  an  unpleasant  idea  seemed  to  flash 
across  Sir  Allan's  mind.  He  was  more  disturbed 
than  he  had  been  during  the  whole  of  the  interview. 

"  Of  course  you  don't  mean  that  charming  Miss 
Thurwell  ?  "  he  said  quickly. 

The  limits  of  Mr.  Brown's  endurance  seemed  to 


THE   NEW   TENANT  141 

have  been  passed.  He  turned  suddenly  round,  his 
eyes  blazing  with  passion,  and  walked  across  the 
room  to  within  a  few  feet  of  Sir  Allan.  He  stood 
there  with  one  hand  grasping  the  back  of  a  chair, 
and  looked  at  him. 

"  And  if  I  did  mean  her,  sir,  what  is  that  to  you  ? 
By  what  right  do  you  dare  to " 

Suddenly  his  upraised  hand  fell.  Both  men  stood 
as  though  turned  to  stone,  listening,  yet  scarcely 
daring  to  glance  toward  the  door.  It  was  the  sound 
of  Morton's  quiet  voice  and  the  trailing  of  skirts 
which  had  checked  Mr.  Brown's  passionate  speech. 

"  Lady  and  Miss  Thurwell !  " 

There  was  no  time  to  move,  scarcely  time  for 
thought.  Morton  stood  respectfully  at  the  door,  and 
the  two  ladies  were  already  on  the  threshold. 

"  My  dear  Sir  Allan  " — in  Lady  Thurwell's  sil- 
very voice — "  what  will  you  think  of  such  a  late 
visit  ?  I  felt  ashamed  to  ask  for  you,  only  we  have 
been  at  the  Countess  of  Applecorn's  in  the  next 
square,  and  I  could  positively  not  pass  your  door 
when  I  remembered  that  it  was  your  afternoon. 
But  you  are  all  in  darkness ;  and  you  have  a  visitor, 
haven't  you  ?  " 

The  figures  of  the  two  men  were  barely  visible 
in  the  deep  gloom  of  the  apartment,  for  the  lamp 
had  burned  low,  and  gave  little  light.  Lady  Thur- 
well had  stopped  just  inside  the  room,  surprised. 

If  only  Sir  Allan's  companion  had  been  a  patient! 
What  a  delightful  piece  of  scandal  it  would  have 
been! 

"  Lady  Thurwell !  Ah,  how  good  of  you !  "  ex- 
claimed Sir  Allan,  coming  forward  out  of  the 
shadow ;  "  and  you,  too,  Miss  Helen.  I  am  honored 
indeed.  Morton,  lights  at  once !  " 

"  We  must  not  stay  a  moment,'*  declared  Lady 


142  THE   NEW  TENANT 

Thurwell,  shaking  hands.  "  No,  we  won't  sit  down, 
thanks!  You  know  why  we've  called?  It's  about 
the  opera  to-night.  You  got  my  note  ?  " 

"  I  did,  Lady  Thurwell,  and  I  can  trustfully  say 
that  I  never  read  one  from  you  with  more  regret." 

"  Then  you  have  an  engagement  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately,  yes !  I  am  dining  at  Downing 
Street." 

"  Well,  we  must  send  for  that  schoolboy  cousin 
of  yours,  Helen !  "  said  Lady  Thurwell,  laughing. 
"  You  see  how  dependent  we  are  upon  your  sex, 
after  all.  Why,  is  that  really  you,  Mr.  Maddison !  " 
she  broke  off  suddenly,  as  a  tall  figure  emerged  a 
little  out  of  the  gloom.  "  Fancy  meeting  you  here ! 
I  had  no  idea  that  you  and  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville 
were  friends.  Helen,  do  you  see  Mr.  Maddison  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  do,"  she  answered,  with  a  low 
happy  laugh ;  "  but  I'm  very  glad  he's  here !  " 

The  lights  were  brought  in  as  she  finished  her  lit- 
tle speech,  and  they  all  looked  at  one  another.  Lady 
Thurwell  broke  into  a  little  laugh. 

"  Really,  this  is  a  singular  meeting,"  she  said, 
"  but  we  mustn't  stop  a  moment.  Mr.  Maddison, 
we  were  hoping  to  see  you  yesterday  afternoon.  Do 
come  soon ! " 

He  bowed  with  a  faint  smile  upon  his  lips. 

"  Come  out  to  the  carriage  with  us,  please,  Mr. 
Maddison,"  Helen  said  to  him  in  a  low  tone  as  Lady 
Thurwell  turned  to  go ;  and  he  walked  down  the  hall 
between  them  and  out  on  to  the  pavement,  leaving 
Sir  Allan  on  the  steps. 

"  You  will  come  and  dine  with  me  soon,  won't 
you,  Mr.  Maddison  ?  "  Lady  Thurwell  asked  him, 
as  she  touched  his  hand  stepping  into  the  brougham. 

"  I  will  come  whenever  you  ask  me ! "  he  an- 
swered rashly. 


THE   NEW  TENANT  143 

"  Then  come  now !  "  said  Helen  quickly.  "  We 
are  all  alone  for  the  evening,  fancy  that,  and  we 
can't  go  out  anywhere  because  we  haven't  an  escort. 
Do  come !  " 

He  looked  at  Lady  Thurwell. 

"  It  will  be  a  real  charity  if  you  will,"  she  said, 
smiling  graciously.  "  We  shall  be  bored  to  death 
alone." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  he  answered  at  once. 
"  About  eight  o'clock,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Half-past  seven,  please,  and  we'll  have  a  long 
evening,"  said  Helen.  "  That  will  give  you  time  to 
get  to  your  club  and  dress.  Good-by !  " 

They  drove  off,  and  Mr.  Bernard  Brown  walked 
swiftly  away  toward  Pall  Mall.  Once  he  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  the  pavement  and  broke  into  an  odd 
little  laugh.  It  was  a  curious  position  to  be  in.  He 
was  expecting  every  moment  to  be  arrested  for  mur- 
der, and  he  was  going  out  to  dine. 


CHAPTER   XXII 
"GOD  FORBID  IT!" 

MR.  MADDISON — to  drop  at  this  point  the  name 
under  which  he  had  chosen  to  become  the  tenant  of 
Falcon's  Nest — was  a  member  of  a  well-known  Lon- 
don club,  chiefly  affected  by  literary  men,  and  after 
his  acceptance  of  Lady  Thurwell's  invitation,  he 
hastened  there  at  once  and  went  to  his  room  to 
dress.  As  a  rule  a  man  does  not  indulge  in  any  very 
profound  meditation  during  the  somewhat  tedious 
process  of  changing  his  morning  clothes  for  the 
monotonous  garb  of  Western  civilization.  His  at- 
tention is  generally  fully  claimed  by  the  satisfactory 
adjusting  of  his  tie  and  the  precaution  he  has  to  use 
to  avoid  anything  so  lamentable  as  a  crease  in  his 
shirt,  and  if  his  thoughts  stray  at  all,  it  is  seldom 
beyond  the  immediate  matter  of  his  toilet,  or  at  most 
a  little  anticipation  with  regard  to  the  forthcoming 
evening.  If  on  the  right  side  of  thirty,  a  pair  of 
bright  eyes  may  sometimes  make  him  pause  for  a 
moment,  even  with  the  hair  brushes  in  his  hands,  to 
wonder  if  she  will  be  there  to-night,  and  if  by  any 
fortunate  chance  he  will  be  able  to  take  her  in  to 
dinner.  And  if  the  reign  of  the  forties  has  com- 
menced, it  is  just  possible  that  a  little  mild  specula- 
tion as  to  the  entrees  may  be  admitted.  But,  as  a 
rule,  a  man's  thoughts  do  not  on  such  an  occasion 
strike  deep  beneath  the  surface,  and  there  is  no  rec- 
ord of  an  author  having  laid  the  plan  of  his  next 
work,  or  a  soldier  having  marked  out  a  campaign, 

144 


THE  NEW  TENANT  145 

while  struggling  with  a  refractory  tie,  or  obstinate 
parting.  Even  if  such  had  ever  happened  to  be  the 
case,  we  should  not  have  cared  to  hear  about  it.  We 
prefer  to  think  of  a  Napoleon  planning  great  con- 
quests in  the  serene  stillness  of  night  among  a  sleep- 
ing camp  and  beneath  a  starlit  sky,  or  of  a  Words- 
worth writing  his  poetry  in  his  cottage  home  among 
the  mountains. 

But  Mr.  Bernard  Maddison,  before  he  left  his 
room  that  evening,  had  come  to  a  great  decision — a 
decision  which  made  his  step  the  firmer,  and  which 
asserted  itself  in  the  carriage  of  his  head  and  the 
increased  brightness  of  his  eyes,  as  he  slowly  de- 
scended the  wide,  luxurious  staircase.  And  he  felt 
calmer,  even  happier,  from  having  at  least  passed 
from  amid  the  shoals  of  doubt  and  uncertainty. 
The  slight  nervousness  had  quite  left  him.  He  was 
still  more  than  ordinarily  pale,  and  there  was  a  look 
of  calm  resignation  in  his  thoughtful  aesthetic  face 
which  gave  to  its  intellectuality  a  touch  of  spirit- 
uality. One  of  the  members  of  the  club  said,  later 
on  in  the  smoking  room,  that  Maddison  seemed  to 
him  to  realize  one's  idea  of  St.  Augustine  in  evening 
clothes.  So  far  as  appearance  went  the  comparison 
was  not  inapt. 

As  he  reached  the  hall  the  porter  came  up  to  him 
with  his  cloak. 

"  There  is  a  gentleman  waiting  for  you  in  the 
strangers'  room,  sir,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Maddison  turned  away  that  the  man  might 
not  see  the  sudden  dread  in  his  face.  It  was  not  a 
long  respite  he  craved  for — only  one  evening.  Was 
even  this  to  be  denied  him  ? 

"  Any  name  ?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

"  He  gave  none,"  the  man  answered ;  "  but  I  think 
it  is  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville." 


146  THE   NEW  TENANT 

"  Ah !  "  Mr.  Maddison  felt  a  sudden  relief  which 
escaped  him  in  that  brief  interjection.  He  was 
scarcely  surprised  at  this  visit.  "  I  will  go  to  him," 
he  said.  "  Call  me  a  hansom,  Grey,  will  you  ?  " 

The  porter  went  outside,  and  Mr.  Maddison 
crossed  the  hall  and  in  a  small,  dimly-lit  room, 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  his  visitor. 

Sir  Allan  wore  the  brilliant  uniform  of  a  colonel 
in  the  yeomanry,  for  the  dinner  to  which  he  was 
going  was  to  be  followed  by  an  official  reception. 
But  he  was  very  pale,  and  his  manner  had  lost  much 
of  its  studied  nonchalance. 

"  I  followed  you  here,"  he  began  at  once,  "  be- 
cause, after  your  departure,  I  began  to  realize  more 
fully  the  seriousness  of  what  you  told  me." 

"  Yes.  I  thought  at  the  time  that  your  indiffer- 
ence was  a  little  remarkable,"  Mr.  Maddison  said 
quietly.  The  positions  between  them  were  entirely 
reversed.  It  was  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  now  who 
was  placing  a  great  restraint  upon  himself,  and  Mr. 
Maddison  who  was  collected  and  at  his  ease. 

"  I  was  taken  by  surprise,"  Sir  Allan  continued. 
"  Since  you  left  me  I  have  been  picturing  all  manner 
of  horrible  things.  Have  you  fully  realized  that  you 
may  be  arrested  at  any  moment  on  this  frightful 
charge  ?  " 

"  I  have  fully  realized  it,"  Mr.  Maddison  an- 
swered calmly.  "  In  fact,  when  the  porter  told  me 
that  a  gentleman  wished  to  see  me,  I  imagined  at 
once  that  it  had  come." 

"  And  have  you  considered,  too,"  Sir  Allan  con- 
tinued, "  how  overwhelming  the  evidence  is  against 
you?" 

"  I  have  considered  it." 

"  Then  why  do  you  linger  here  for  one  moment  ? 
Why  don't  you  escape  while  you  have  the  chance  ?  " 


THE  NEW  TENANT  147 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  Mr.  Maddison  answered.  "  I 
shall  make  no  attempt  to  escape." 

Sir  Allan's  face  grew  a  shade  more  pallid,  and  be- 
trayed an  agitation  which  he  strove  in  vain  to  con- 
ceal. 

"  But  supposing  you  are  arrested,"  he  said 
quickly,  "  everything  will  go  against  you.  What 
shall  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  shall  accept  my  fate,  whatever  it  may  be," 
was  the  quiet  reply.  "  I  prefer  this  to  flight. 
Life  would  not  be  very  valuable  to  me  as 
a  skulking  criminal  in  a  foreign  country.  If  it 
be  declared  forfeit  to  the  law,  the  law  shall 
have  it." 

There  was  a  sudden  choking  in  Sir  Allan's  voice, 
and  an  almost  piteous  look  in  his  face. 

"  God  forbid  it !  "  he  cried ;  "  God  forbid  it !  " 

And  suddenly  this  hardened  man  of  the  world, 
this  professed  cynic  in  an  age  of  cynicism,  sank 
down  in  a  chair  and  buried  his  head  in  his  arms  on 
the  green  baize  writing  table,  crushing  the  gold  lace 
of  his  glittering  uniform,  and  the  immaculate  shirt 
front,  with  its  single  diamond  stud.  It  was  only  for 
a  moment  that  a  sudden  rush  of  feeling  overcame 
him.  But  when  he  looked  up  his  face  was  haggard 
and  he  looked  years  older. 

"  Does  anyone — know  of  this  ?  "  he  asked  in  a 
hoarse  tone. 

Mr.  Maddison  shook  his  head. 

"  No  one  whatever  as  yet,"  he  said  shortly.  "  If 
I  am  free  to-morrow,  I  shall  go  to  Italy." 

A  sudden  change  swept  into  Sir  Allan's  face.  He 
rose  from  his  chair,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full 
height.  Again  he  was  the  stately,  distinguished 
man  of  the  world,  with  little  feeling  in  his  voice  or 
looks.  Between  him  and  this  other  man  in  his  sober 


148  THE  NEW  TENANT 

black,  with  wasted  face  and  thin  stooping  frame, 
there  was  a  startling  difference. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  will  do  your  duty,  Mr. 
Maddison,"  he  said  coldly ;  "  although,  if  I  may  be 
forgiven  for  saying  so,  your  method  appears  to  me 
a  little  quixotic,  and,  in  a  certain  sense,  singularly 
devoid  of  consideration  for  others.  I  will  not  detain 
you  any  longer." 

He  wrapped  his  long  cloak  around  him  and  left 
the  room  in  dignified  silence.  Mr.  Maddison  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  steps,  and  saw  him  get  into  his 
carriage.  They  parted  without  another  word. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

LOVERS 

BERNARD  MADDISON  kept  his  engagement  that 
evening,  and  dined  alone  with  Lady  Thurwell  and 
Helen.  There  had  been  some  talk  of  going  to  the 
opera  afterwards,  but  no  one  seemed  to  care  about 
it,  and  so  it  dropped  through. 

"  For  my  part,"  Lady  Thurwell  said,  as  they  sat 
lingering  over  their  dessert,  "  I  shall  quite  enjoy  an 
evening's  rest.  You  literary  men,  Mr.  Maddison, 
talk  a  good  deal  about  being  overworked,  but  you 
know  nothing  of  the  life  of  a  chaperon  in  the  sea- 
son. I  tell  Helen  that  she  is  sadly  wanting  in  grati- 
tude. We  do  everything  worth  doing — picture  gal- 
leries, matinees,  shopping,  afternoon  calls,  dinners, 
dances,  receptions — why,  there's  no  slavery  like  it." 

Helen  laughed  softly. 

"  We  do  a  great  deal  too  much,  aunt,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  almost  coming  round  to  my  father's  opinion. 
You  know,  Mr.  Maddison,  he  very  seldom  comes  to 
London,  and  then  only  when  he  wants  to  pay  a  visit 
to  his  gunmaker,  or  to  renew  his  hunting  kit,  or 
something  of  that  sort.  London  life  does  not  suit 
him  at  all." 

"  I  think  your  father  a  very  wise  man,"  he  an- 
swered. "  He  seeks  his  pleasures  in  a  more  whole- 
some manner." 

She  looked  thoughtful. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose,  ethically,  the  life  of  a  man  about 
149 


150  THE  NEW  TENANT 

town  is  on  a  very  low  level.  That  is  why  one  meets 
so  few  who  interest  one,  as  a  rule.  Don't  you  think 
all  this  society  life  very  frivolous,  Mr.  Maddison?  " 

"  I  am  not  willing-  to  be  its  judge,"  he  answered. 
"  Yet  it  is  a  moral  axiom  that  the  higher  we  seek 
for  our  pleasures  the  greater  happiness  we  attain  to. 
I  am  an  uncompromising  enemy  to  what  is  known 
as  fashionable  society,  so  I  will  draw  no  conclu- 
sions." 

"  It  is  intellect  and  artistic  sensibility  versus  sen- 
suousness,"  yawned  Lady  Thurwell.  "  I'm  a  weak 
woman,  and  I'm  afraid  I'm  too  old  to  change  my 
ways.  But  I'm  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  argument 
all  the  same;  at  least,  I  should  be  if  I  took  up  the 
cudgels." 

"  Which  are  the  greater  sinners,  Mr.  Maddison  ?  " 
asked  Helen,  smiling,  "  men  of  the  world  or  women 
of  the  world  ?  " 

"  Without  doubt,  men,"  he  answered  quickly. 
"  However  we  may  talk  about  the  equality  of  the 
sexes,  the  fact  remains  that  women  are  born  into 
the  world  with  lighter  natures  than  men.  They 
have  at  once  a  greater  capacity,  and  more  desire  for 
amusement  pure  and  simple.  They  wear  themselves 
out  in  search  of  it,  more  especially  the  women  of 
other  nations.  And  after  all,  when  their  life  has 
passed,  they  have  never  known  the  meaning  of  real 
happiness,  of  the  pleasures  that  have  no  reaction, 
and  that  sweet  elevation  of  mind  that  is  only  won  by 
thought  and  study." 

"  Poor  women ! "  murmured  Lady  Thurwell. 
"  Mr.  Maddison,  you  are  making  me  quite  uncom- 
fortable. Paint  my  sex  in  more  glowing  colors, 
please,  or  leave  them  alone.  Remember  that  I  am 
the  only  middle-aged  woman  here.  I  don't  count 
Helen  at  all.  I  see  that  she  is  something  of  your 


THE   NEW  TENANT  151 

way  of  thinking-  already.  Traitress!  Do  light  a 
cigarette,  Mr.  Maddison.  I  adore  the  perfume  of 
them,  and  so  does  Helen." 

He  took  one  from  the  box  she  passed  him,  and 
gravely  lit  it.  They  were  doing  everything  in  a 
very  informal  manner.  Dinner  had  been  served  in 
the  library,  a  cozy  little  apartment  with  a  large  open 
grate  in  which  a  cheerful  fire  had  been  lit.  The 
ordinary  table  had  been  dispensed  with  in  favor  of 
a  small  round  one  just  large  enough  for  them,  and 
now,  with  dessert  on  the  table,  they  had  turned  their 
chairs  round  to  the  fire  in  very  homelike  fashion. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  like  this,"  Helen  said  softly. 
"  I  think  it  is  so  much  better  than  a  dinner  party,  or 
going  out  anywhere." 

"  See  what  a  difference  the  presence  of  a  distin- 
guished man  of  letters  makes,"  laughed  Lady  Thur- 
well.  "  Now,  only,  a  few  hours  ago,  we  were  dread- 
ing a  very  dull  evening — Helen  as  well  as  myself. 
How  nice  it  was  of  you  to  take  pity  on  us,  Mr.  Mad- 
dison!" 

"  Especially  considering  your  aversion  to  our  so- 
ciety," put  in  Helen.  "  Are  not  you  really  thinking 
it  a  shocking  waste  of  time  to  be  here  talking  to  two 
very  unlearned  women  instead  of  seeking  inspiration 
in  your  study  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  reproachfully. 
"  I  know  nothing  of  Lady  Thurwell's  tastes,"  he 
said ;  "  but  you  can  scarcely  call  yourself  unlearned. 
You  have  read  much,  and  you  have  thought." 

"  A  pure  accident — I  mean  the  thinking,"  she  an- 
swered lightly.  "  If  I  had  not  been  a  country  girl, 
with  a  mind  above  my  station,  intellectually,  there's 
no  telling  what  might  have  happened.  Town  life 
is  very  distracting,  if  you  once  get  into  the  groove. 
Isn't  it,  aunt?" 


152  THE  NEW  TENANT 

Lady  Thurwell,  who  was  a  thorough  little  dame 
de  societe,  rose  with  a  pout  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  be  hauled  over  the  coals  by  you 
superior  people  any  longer,"  she  answered.  "  I  shall 
leave  you  to  form  a  mutual  improvement  society, 
and  go  and  write  some  letters.  When  you  want  me, 
come  into  the  drawing  room,  but  don't  come  yet. 
Thank  you,  Mr.  Maddison,"  she  added,  as  he  held 
the  door  open  for  her;  "  be  merciful  to  the  absent, 
won't  you  ?  " 

And  so  they  were  alone!  As  he  closed  the  door 
and  walked  across  the  room  to  his  seat,  there  came 
back  to  him,  with  a  faint  bewildering  sweetness, 
something  of  the  passionate  emotion  of  their  fare- 
well in  the  pine  grove  on  the  cliff.  He  felt  his 
pulses  quicken,  and  his  heart  beat  fast.  It  was  in 
vain  that  the  dying  tenets  of  his  old  life,  a  life  of 
renunciation  and  solitude,  feebly  reasserted  them- 
selves. At  that  moment,  if  never  before,  he  knew 
the  truth.  The  warm  fresh*  sunlight  lay  across  his 
barren  life,  brightening  with  a  marvelous  glow  its 
gloomiest  corners.  The  old  passionless  serenity,  in 
which  the  human  had  been  crushed  out  by  the  intel- 
lectual, was  gone  forever.  He  loved  this  woman. 

And  she  was  very  fair.  He  stole  a  long  glance  at 
her  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  low  wicker  chair — the 
fond  glance  of  a  lover — and  he  felt  his  keenly  artis- 
tic sense  stirred  from  its  very  depths  by  her  purely 
physical  beauty.  The  firelight  was  casting  strange 
gleams  upon  the  deep  golden  hair  which  waved 
about  her  oval  face  and  shapely  forehead  in  pictur- 
esque unrestraint,  and  there  was  an  ethereal  glow 
in  her  exquisite  complexion,  a  light  in  her  eyes, 
which  seemed  called  up  by  some  unusual  excitement. 

The  setting  of  the  picture,  too,  was  perfect.    Her 


THE   NEW  TENANT  153 

ivory  satin  gown  hung  in  long  straight  lines  about 
her  slim  perfect  outline  with  all  the  grace  of  Greek 
drapery,  unrelieved  save  by  one  large  bunch  of 
Neapolitan  violets  nestling  amongst  the  folds  of  old 
lace  which  filled  up  the  open  space  of  her  bodice. 
He  stood  and  looked  at  her  with  a  strange  confusion 
of  feelings.  A  new  life  was  burning  in  his  veins, 
and  for  the  first  time  since  his  boyhood  he  doubted 
his  absolute  self-mastery.  Dared  he  stay  there? 
Could  he  sit  by  her  side,  and  bandy  idle  words  with 
her? 

The  silence  had  lasted  for  several  minutes,  and 
was  beginning  to  possess  something  of  that  peculiar 
eloquence  which  such  silences  usually  have.  At  last 
she  raised  her  eyes,  and  looked  at  him  standing  mo- 
tionless and  thoughtful  amongst  the  shadows  of  the 
room,  and  at  the  first  glance  he  felt  his  strength 
grow  weak,  and  his  passionate  love  rising  up  like  a 
living  force.  For  there  was  in  her  eyes,  and  in  her 
face,  and  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke,  something  of 
that  softening  change  which  transfuses  a  woman's 
being  when  she  loves,  and  lets  the  secret  go  from 
her — a  sort  of  mute  yielding,  an  abandonment,  hav- 
ing in  it  a  subtle  essence  of  unconscious  invitation. 

"  Come  and  talk  to  me,"  she  said  softly.  "  Why 
do  you  stand  out  there  ?  " 

He  made  one  last  despairing  effort.  With  a 
strangely  unnatural  laugh,  he  drew  a  chair  to  her 
side  and  began  to  talk  rapidly,  never  once  letting  his 
eyes  rest  upon  her  loveliness,  striving  to  keep  his 
thoughts  fixed  upon  his  subject,  but  all  the  time 
acutely  conscious  of  her  presence.  He  talked  of 
many  things  with  a  restless  energy  which  more  than 
once  caused  her  to  look  up  at  him  in  wonderment. 
He  strove  even  to  keep  her  from  answering  him, 
lest  the  magic  of  her  voice  should  turn  the  trembling 


154  THE   NEW  TENANT 

scale.  For  her  sake  he  unlocked  the  inmost  re- 
cesses of  his  mind,  and  all  the  rich  store  of  artistic 
sensations,  of  jealously  preserved  memories,  came 
flooding  out,  clothed  with  all  that  eloquence  of  jew- 
eled phrase  and  daintily  turned  sentence  which  had 
made  his  writings  so  famous.  For  her  sake,  too,  he 
sent  his  imagination  traveling  through  almost  un- 
trodden fields,  bringing  back  exquisite  word  pictures, 
and  lifting  the  curtain  before  many  a  landscape  of 
sun-smitten  thought.  All  the  music  of  sweet  im- 
agery and  pure  bracing  idealism  thrilled  through 
her  whole  being.  This  was  indeed  a  man  to  love! 
And  as  his  speech  grew  slower,  and  she  heard  again 
that  peculiar  trembling  in  his  tone,  the  meaning  of 
which  her  woman's  heart  so  easily  interpreted,  she 
began  to  long  for  those  few  words  from  him  which 
she  felt  would  be  the  awakening  of  a  new  life  in  her. 
He  could  not  fail  to  notice  even  that  slight  change, 
and  wondering  whether  her  attention  was  commenc- 
ing to  flag,  he  paused  and  their  eyes  met  in  a  gaze 
full  of  that  deep  tragical  intensity  which  marks  the 
birth  between  man  and  woman  of  any  new  sensa- 
tion. The  fire  which  glowed  in  his  eyes  told  her  of 
his  love  as  plainly  as  the  dreamy  yet  expressive  light 
which  gleamed  in  hers  spoke  also  to  him,  and  when 
her  head  drooped  before  the  gathering  passion  in  his 
face,  and  the  faint  color  streamed  into  her  cheeks, 
no  will  of  his  could  keep  the  words  back  any 
longer.  He  felt  his  breath  come  quickly,  and  his 
heart  almost  stop  beating.  His  pulses  were  quick- 
ening, and  a  strange  new  delight  stole  through  him. 
Surely  this  was  the  end.  He  could  bear  no  more. 

And  it  seemed  as  though  it  were  indeed  so,  for 
with  a  sudden  impulse  he  caught  hold  of  her  white, 
ringless  hand,  and  drew  it  gently  toward  him. 
There  was  a  slight  instinctive  resistance  which  came 


THE  NEW  TENANT  155 

and  went  in  a  space  of  time  only  a  thought  could 
measure.  Then  she  yielded  it  to  him,  and  the  sense 
of  her  touch  stole  through  his  veins  with  a  sort  of 
dreamy  fascination,  to  give  place  in  a  moment  to 
the  overmastering  fire  of  his  great  passion. 

Her  face  was  turned  away  from  him,  but  he  saw 
the  faint  color  deepen  in  her  cheeks  and  the  light 
quivering  of  the  lip.  And  then  a  torrent  of  feeling, 
before  which  his  last  shaking  barriers  of  resistance 
crumbled  away  like  dust,  swept  from  his  heart, 
striking  every  chord  of  his  nature  with  a  crash  of 
wild  music. 

"  Helen,  my  love,  my  love !  "  he  cried. 

And  she  turned  round,  her  eyes  dim  with  trem- 
bling tears,  yet  glowing  with  a  great  happiness — 
turned  around  to  feel  his  arms  steal  around  her  and 
hold  her  clasped  to  his  heart  in  a  mad  sweet  em- 
brace. And  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  for  this  that 
she  had  lived. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 
A  WOMAN'S  LOVE 

IT  seemed  to  him  in  those  few  golden  moments  of 
his  life  that  memory  died  away  and  time  stood  still. 
The  past  with  its  hideous  sorrows,  and  the  future 
over  which  it  stretched  its  chilling  hand,  were 
merged  in  the  present.  Life  had  neither  background 
nor  prospect.  The  overpowering  realization  of  the 
elysium  into  which  he  had  stepped  had  absorbed  all 
sense  and  all  knowledge.  They  were  together,  and 
words  were  passing  between  them  which  would  live 
to  eternity  in  his  heart. 

But  the  fairest  summer  sky  will  not  be  fair  for- 
ever. Clouds  will  gather,  and  drive  before  them 
the  sweetness  and  joy  from  the  smiling  heavens,  and 
memory  is  a  mistress  who  may  slumber  but  who 
never  sleeps.  Those  moments  of  entrancing  hap- 
piness, although  in  one  sense  they  lasted  a  lifetime, 
were  in  the  ordinary  measure  of  time  but  of  brief 
duration.  For  with  something  of  the  overmaster- 
ing suddenness  with  which  his  passion  had  found 
expression,  there  swept  back  into  his  heart  all  the 
still  cold  flow  of  icy  reminiscence.  She  felt  his  arms 
loosen  around  her.  and  she  raised  her  head,  wonder- 
ing, from  his  shoulder,  wonder  that  turned  soon  to 
fear,  for  he  rose  up  and  stood  before  her  white,  and 
with  a  great  agony  in  his  dark  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  mad ! "  he  muttered  hoarsely. 
"  Forgive  me !  I  must  go !  " 

156 


THE   NEW   TENANT  157 

She  stood  up  by  his  side,  pale,  but  with  no  fear  or 
weakness  in  her  look.  She,  too,  had  begun  to  real- 
ize. 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,"  she  said  softly.  "  You  do 
— love  me !  " 

"  God  knows  I  do !  "  he  answered.  The  words 
came  from  his  heart  with  a  nervous  intensity  which 
showed  itself  in  his  quivering  lips,  and  the  vibration 
of  his  tone.  She  knew  their  truth  as  surely  as 
though  she  had  seen  them  written  in  letters  of  fire, 
and  that  knowledge,  or  rather  her  absolute  confi- 
dence in  it,  made  her  in  a  measure  bold.  The  dainty 
exclusiveness  which  had  half  repelled,  half  attracted 
other  men  had  fallen  away  from  her.  She  stood  be- 
fore him  a  loving  tearful  woman,  with  something  of 
that  gentle  shame  which  is  twin  sister  to  modesty 
burning  in  her  cheeks. 

"  Then  I  will  not  let  you  go,"  she  said  softly,  tak- 
ing both  his  hands  in  hers,  and  holding  him  tightly. 
"  Nothing  shall  come  between  us." 

He  looked  into  the  love  light  which  gleamed  in 
her  wet  eyes,  and  stooping  down  he  took  her  again 
into  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"  My  darling !  "  he  whispered  passionately,  "  my 
darling !  But  you  do  not  know." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  she  answered,  drawing  him  gently 
back  to  their  old  place.  "  You  mean  about  what 
Rachel  Kynaston  said  that  awful  night,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  More  than  that,  alas !  "  he  answered  in  a  low 
tone.  "  Other  people  besides  Rachel  Kynaston  have 
had  suspicions  about  me.  I  have  been  watched,  and 
while  I  was  away,  Falcon's  Nest  has  been  entered, 
and  papers  have  been  taken  away." 

She  was  white  with  fear.  This  was  Benjamin 
Levy's  doing,  and  it  was  through  her.  Ought  she 
to  tell  him  ?  She  could  not !  She  could  not ! 


158  THE   NEW   TENANT 

"  But  they  do  not — the  papers,  I  mean — make  it 
appear  that " 

"  Helen,"  he  interrupted,  with  his  face  turned 
away  from  her,  "  it  is  best  that  you  should  know 
the  truth.  Those  papers  reveal  the  story  of  a  bitter 
enmity  between  myself  and  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston. 
When  you  consider  that  and  the  other  things,  you 
will  see  that  I  may  at  any  moment  be  arrested." 

A  spasm  of  pain  passed  across  her  face.  At  that 
moment  her  thoughts  were  only  concerned  with  his 
safety.  The  terrible  suggestiveness  of  what  he  had 
told  her  had  very  little  real  meaning  for  her  then. 
Her  one  thought  was,  could  she  buy  those  papers? 
If  all  her  fortune  could  do  it,  it  should  be  given. 
Only  let  him  never  know,  and  let  him  be  safe ! 

"  Bernard,"  she  whispered  softly,  "  I  am  not 
afraid.  It  is  very  terrible,  but  it  cannot  alter  any- 
thing. Love  cannot  come  and  go  at  our  bidding. 
It  is  forever.  Nothing  can  change  that." 

He  stopped  her  lips  with  passionate  kisses,  and 
then  he  tried  to  tear  himself  away.  But  she  would 
not  let  him  go.  A  touch  of  that  complete  self-sur- 
render which  comes  even  to  the  proudest  woman 
when  she  loves  had  made  her  bold. 

"  Have  I  not  told  you,  Bernard,"  she  whispered, 
"  that  I  will  not  let  you  go?  " 

"  Helen,  you  must,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "  Who 
knows  but  that  to-morrow  I  may  stand  in  the  dock, 
charged  with  that  hideous  crime  ?  " 

"  If  they  will  let  me,  I  shall  gladly  stand  by  your 
side,"  she  answered. 

He  turned  away,  and  his  shaking  fingers  hid  his 
face  from  her. 

"  Oh,  this  is  too  much  for  a  man  to  bear !  "  he 
moaned.  "  Helen,  Helen,  there  must  be  nothing  of 
this  between  you  and  me." 


THE  NEW  TENANT  159 

"  Nothing  between  you  and  me !  "  she  repeated 
with  a  ring  of  gentle  scorn  in  her  voice.  "  Bernard, 
do  you  know  so  little  of  women,  after  all  ?  Do  you 
think  that  they  can  play  at  love  in  this  give-and- 
take  fashion  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer.  She  stood  up  and  passed  one 
of  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  with  the  other 
hand  gently  disengaged  his  fingers  from  before  his 
face. 

"  Bernard,  dearest,  look  at  me.  All  things  can 
be  changed  by  fashion  or  expediency  save  a 
woman's  love,  and  that  is  eternal.  Don't  think, 
please,  of  any  of  these  terrible  things  that  may  be  in 
store  for  us,  or  what  other  people  would  think  or 
say.  I  want  you  to  remember  that  love,  even 
though  it  be  personal  love,  is  far  above  all  circum- 
stance. No  power  in  this  world  can  alter  or  change 
it.  It  belongs  to  that  better  part  of  ourselves  which 
lifts  us  above  all  misfortune  and  trouble.  You  have 
given  me  a  great  happiness,  Bernard,  and  you  shall 
not  take  it  away  from  me.  Whatever  happens  to 
you,  it  is  my  right  to  share  it.  Remember,  for  the 
future,  it  is  '  we,'  not  '  I.'  You  must  not  think  of 
yourself  alone  in  anything,  for  I  belong  now  to 
everything  that  concerns  you." 

And  so  it  was  that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
Bernard  Maddison,  who  had  written  much  concern- 
ing them,  much  that  was  both  faithful  and  beautiful, 
saw  into  the  inner  life  of  a  true  woman.  Only  for 
the  man  whom  she  loves  will  she  thus  lift  the  cur- 
tain from  before  that  sweet  depth  of  unselfishness 
which  makes  even  the  homeliest  of  her  sex  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  of  God's  creations;  and  he,  if  he 
be  in  any  way  a  man  of  human  sensibility  and 
capacity,  must  feel  something  of  that  wondering 
awe,  that  reverence  with  which  Bernard  Maddison 


160  THE  NEW  TENANT 

drank  in  the  meaning  of  her  words.  The  mute 
anxiety  of  her  tearful  gaze,  the  color  which  came 
and  fled  from  her  face — he  understood  all  these 
signs.  They  were  to  him  the  physical,  the  material 
covering  for  her  appeal.  A  life  of  grand  thoughts, 
of  ever-climbing  ideas,  of  pure  and  lofty  aims,  had 
revealed  to  him  nothing  so  noble  and  yet  so  sweetly 
human  as  this;  had  filled  his  being  with  no  such 
heart-shattering  emotion  as  swept  through  him  at 
that  moment.  A  woman's  hand  had  lifted  him  out 
from  his  despair  into  a  higher  state,  and  there  was 
a  great  humility  in  the  silent  gesture  with  which  he 
yielded  his  will  to  hers. 

And  then  again  there  were  spoken  words  between 
them  which  no  chronicles  should  report,  and  a  cer- 
tain calm  happiness  took  up  its  settled  place  in  his 
heart,  defiant  of  that  despair  which  could  not  be 
driven  out.  Then  came  that  reawakening  to  mun- 
dane things  which  seems  like  a  very  great  step 
indeed  in  such  cases.  She  looked  at  the  clock,  and 
gave  a  little  start. 

"  Bernard,  it  is  nearly  eleven  o'clock,"  she  cried. 
We  must  go  into  the  drawing-room  at  once. 
What  will  aunt  think  of  us?  You  must  come  with 
me,  of  course ;  but  you'd  better  say  good  night  now. 
There,  that  will  do,  sir!  " 

She  drew  away  and  smoothed  her  ruffled  hair 
back  from  her  forehead,  looking  ruefully  in  the 
glass  at  her  tear-stained  cheeks,  and  down  at  the 
crushed  violets  in  her  corsage. 

"  May  I  have  them?  "  he  asked. 

She  drew  them  out  and  placed  them  in  his  hand. 

"  To-morrow "  she  said. 

"  To-morrow  I  must  go  into  the  land  of  violets," 
he  interrupted. 

She  turned  round  quickly. 


THE  NEW  TENANT  161 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  You  are  not  going  away 
without  my  permission,  sir  ?  " 

"  Then  I  must  seek  it,"  he  answered,  smiling. 
"  You  have  given  life  such  an  exquisite  sweetness 
for  me,  that  I  am  making  plans  already  to  preserve 
it.  My  one  hope  lies  in  Italy." 

"  How  long  should  you  be  away  ?  "  she  asked 
anxiously. 

"  Not  a  week,"  he  answered.  "If  I  am  permit- 
ted to  leave  England,  which  I  fear  is  doubtful,  to- 
morrow, I  can  be  back  perhaps  in  five  days." 

"  Then  you  may  go,  Bernard,"  she  whispered. 
"  Take  this  with  you,  and  think  of  me  sometimes." 

She  had  drawn  out  a  photograph  of  herself  from 
a  folding  case  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  he  took  it 
from  her  eagerly. 

"  Nothing  in  the  world  could  be  so  precious  to 
me,"  he  said. 

"  For  a  novice  you  say  some  very  nice  things," 
she  answered,  laughing  softly.  "  And  now  you 
must  go,  sir.  No,  you  needn't  come  into  the  draw- 
ing-room; I  really  couldn't  show  myself  with  you. 
I'll  make  your  excuses  to  my  aunt.  Farewell — 
love!" 

"  Farewell — sweetheart !  "  he  answered,  hesitat- 
ing for  a  moment  over  the  words  which  seemed  so 
strange  to  him.  Then,  as  though  loth  to  leave  him, 
she  walked  down  the  hall  by  his  side,  and  they 
looked  out  for  a  moment  into  the  square.  A  foot- 
man was  standing  prepared  to  open  the  door,  but 
Helen  sent  him  away  with  a  message  to  her  maid. 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  did  that  ?  "  she  asked,  her 
clasp  tightening  upon  his  arm. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  looked  down  at  her 
fondly. 

"  I  can't  imagine,  unless " 


162  THE   NEW   TENANT 

She  glanced  half  fearfully  behind  and  then  up 
into  his  face  again,  with  a  faint  blush  stealing  into 
her  cheeks. 

"  I  want  one  more  kiss,  please." 

He  looked  into  her  soft  trustful  face,  and  he  felt, 
with  a  sense  almost  of  awe,  the  preciousness  of  such 
a  love  as  this,  a  love  which,  comprehending  the  ter- 
rible period  of  anxiety  through  which  he  had  to 
pass,  was  not  ashamed  to  seek  to  sweeten  it  for  him 
by  the  simple  charm  of  such  an  offering.  Then,  at 
the  sound  of  returning  footsteps  in  the  hall,  he  let 
go  her  hands,  and  with  her  fond  farewell  still  linger- 
ing in  his  ears,  he  hurried  out  into  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MR.   LEVY,   JUNIOR,   GOES   ON   THE   CONTINENT 

MR.  BENJAMIN  LEVY  was  standing  in  his  favor- 
ite position  before  the  office  fireplace,  with  his  legs 
a  little  apart,  and  his  small  keen  eyes  fixed  upon  va- 
cancy. It  was  thus,  in  that  very  pose,  and  on  that 
very  hearthrug,  that  he  had  thought  out  more  than 
one  of  those  deep-laid  schemes  which  had  brought  a 
certain  measure  of  notoriety  to  the  firm  of  which 
he  was  a  shining  light,  and  at  that  very  moment  he 
was  engaged  in  deep  consideration  concerning  the 
case  in  which  his  energies  were  at  present  absorbed. 

A  few  feet  away,  his  father  was  carefully  calcu- 
lating, with  the  aid  of  a  ready  reckoner,  the  com- 
pound interest  on  a  little  pile  of  bills  of  exchange 
which  lay  before  him.  Every  now  and  then  he 
paused,  and,  looking  up  from  his  task,  glanced  cau- 
tiously into  his  son's  perplexed  face.  Curiosity  at 
length  culminated  in  speech. 

"  What  was  you  thinking,  Benjamin,  my  son  ?  " 
he  said  softly.  "  The  Miss  Thurwell  case  is  plain 
before  us,  is  it  not?  There  is  nothing  fresh,  is 
there  ?  No  fresh  business,  eh,  my  son  ?  " 

Mr.  Benjamin  started,  and  abandoned  his  reflec- 
tions. 

"  No ;  nothing  fresh,  dad.  It  was  the  Thurwell 
affair  I  was  thinking  of.  Give  me  the  keys,  will 
you?" 

Mr.  Levy  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  produced 
from  his  trousers  pocket  a  jingling  bunch  of  keys. 

163 


164  THE   NEW  TENANT 

Mr.  Benjamin  took  them  in  thoughtful  silence, 
and,  opening  the  safe,  drew  out  a  packet  of  faded 
letters  tied  up  with  ribbon.  From  these  he  selected 
one,  and  carefully  replaced  the  rest. 

"  Those  letters  again,"  remarked  his  fond  parent, 
chuckling.  "  Take  care  of  them,  Benjamin,  take 
care  of  them.  They  was  worth  their  weight  in  gold 
to  us." 

"  They're  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  that," 
remarked  Mr.  Benjamin  carelessly.  "  There's  only 
one  thing,  dad,  that  puzzles  me  a  bit." 

"  It  must  be  a  rum  thing,  my  boy,  that  does  that," 
his  fond  parent  remarked  admiringly.  "  I  never 
praise  undeservedly,  but  I  must  say  this,  Benjamin, 
you've  managed  this  Thurwell  affair  marvelously — 
marvelously!  Come,  let  me  see  what  it  is  that  is 
too  deep  for  you." 

He  rose  and  looked  over  his  son's  shoulder  at  the 
letter  which  he  was  reading — one  thin  sheet  of  for- 
eign note  paper,  covered  with  closely  written  lines 
of  faint,  angular  writing,  and  emitting  even  now  a 
delicate  musky  scent. 

"  What  is  it,  Benjamin — what  is  it?  " 

His  son  laid  his  finger  on  a  sentence  toward  the 
close  of  the  letter,  and  read  it  aloud : — 

"  What  that  fear  has  been  to  me,  and  what  it  has 
grown  into  during  my  sad  lonely  life,  I  cannot  hope 
to  make  you  understand.  Always  those  terrible 
words  of  vengeance  ring  in  my  ears  as  I  heard  them 
last.  They  seem  to  roll  over  sea  and  land,  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  and  out  in  the  sunlit  street, 
I  seem  to  hear  them  still.  It  is  not  you  I  fear,  Ber- 
nard, so  much  as  him!  " 

Mr.  Levy  listened,  and  nodded  approvingly. 


THE  NEW  TENANT  165 

"  All  is  plain  there,  Benjamin,  I  think.  The 
meaning  is  quite  clear." 

Mr.  Benjamin  laid  his  finger  upon  the  last  sen- 
tence. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  that,  dad  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mr.  Levy  adjusted  his  spectacles  and  read  it 
slowly. 

"  '  It  is  not  for  you  I  fear,  Bernard,  so  much  as 
him.'  Tut,  tut,  that's  simple  enough,"  he  declared. 
"  This  woman,  whoever  she  may  be,  is  afraid  of  a 
meeting  between  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  and  Mr. 
Bernard  Maddison,  to  give  him  his  right  name,  and 
she  remarks  that  it  is  for  him  she  fears,  and  not  for 
Sir  Geoffrey.  Quite  right,  too,  considering  the  af- 
fectionate tone  of  these  letters." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  that's  it,"  Mr.  Benjamin  re- 
marked in  an  absent  tone,  folding  up  the  letter,  and 
putting  it  back  amongst  the  rest. 

Mr.  Levy  watched  him  narrowly,  and  returned  to 
his  desk  with  a  sense  of  injury.  His  son — his  Ben- 
jamin— had  discovered  something  which  he  was 
not  going  to  confide  to  the  parental  ear.  It  was 
a  blow. 

He  was  wondering  whether  it  might  have  the  de- 
sired effect  if  he  were  to  produce  a  scrap  of  old 
yellow  pocket  handkerchief,  and  affect  to  be  over- 
come, when  they  heard  a  hurried  footstep  outside. 
Both  looked  up  anxiously.  There  was  a  quick 
knocking  at  the  door,  and  a  shabby-looking  man 
dressed  in  black  entered. 

"  Well,  Leekson,  what  news  ? "  Mr.  Benjamin 
asked  quickly. 

"  He's  off,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "  Continent. 
Afternoon  train.  Waterloo,  three  o'clock." 

Mr.  Benjamin's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  I     knew     it ! "    he    exclaimed    triumphantly. 


1 66  THE  NEW  TENANT 

"  Job's  over,  Leekson.  Get  me  a  cab,  and  go  to  the 
office  for  your  money." 

"  You're  going  to  let  him  go! "  cried  Mr.  Levy 
piteously. 

"  Not  I.  I'm  going  with  him,  dad.  A  fifty- 
pound  note  from  the  safe,  quick." 

Mr.  Levy  gave  it  to  him  with  trembling  fingers. 

"  Now,  dad,  listen  to  me,"  Benjamin  said  ear- 
nestly, reaching  down  his  overcoat  from  the  peg. 
"  Miss  Thurwell  will  be  here  some  time  to-day,  I'm 
certain,  to  try  and  buy  those  letters.  I've  changed 
my  mind  about  them.  Sell." 

"  Sell,"  repeated  Mr.  Levy,  surprised.  "  I 
thought  that  that  was  what  we  were  not  to  do." 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind.  I'm  playing  a  better 
game  than  that  now,"  continued  Mr.  Benjamin. 
"  I'll  leave  it  to  you  to  make  the  bargain.  There's 
no  one  can  beat  you  at  that,  you  know,  dad." 

Mr.  Levy  acknowledged  his  son's  compliment 
with  a  gratified  smile. 

"  Well,  well,  Benjamin,  we'll  say  nothing  about 
that.  I'll  do  my  best,  you  may  be  sure,"  he  de- 
clared fervently. 

"  I  may  as  well  just  mention  that  I  have  ascer- 
tained how  much  money  she  has  got,"  Mr.  Benja- 
min went  on.  "  She's  worth,  until  her  father  dies, 
about  fifteen  thousand  pounds.  We  won't  be  hard 
on  her.  Suppose  we  say  five  thousand  the  lowest, 
eh?" 

"  All  right,  Benjamin,  all  right,"  the  old  man 
murmured,  rubbing  his  hands  softly  together. 
"  Five  thousand  pounds !  My  eye !  And  how  long 
shall  you  be  away  ?  " 

"  I  can't  quite  tell,  dad.  Just  keep  your  pecker 
up,  and  stick  to  the  biz." 

"  Yes,  Ben,  yes.    And  of  course  you  can't  stop  to 


THE  NEW  TENANT  167 

tell  me  about  it  now,  but  won't  this  five  thousand 
pounds  from  the  young  lady  about  put  an  end  to 
this  little  game,  eh?  And,  if  so,  need  you  go  fol- 
lowing this  Mr.  Maddison  all  over  the  country,  eh? 
An  expensive  journey,  Ben.  You've  got  that  fifty- 
pound  note,  you  know." 

Mr.  Benjamin  laughed  contemptuously. 

"  You'll  never  make  a  pile,  you  won't,  dad,"  he 
exclaimed.  "  You're  so  plaguedly  narrow  minded. 
Listen  here,"  he  added,  drawing  a  little  closer  to 
him,  and  looking  round  over  his  shoulder  to  be 
sure  that  no  one  was  listening  to  him.  "  When  I 
come  back,  I'll  make  you  open  your  eyes.  You 
think  this  thing  played  out,  do  you?  Bah!  The 
letters  aren't  worth  twopence  to  us.  When  I  come 
back  from  abroad,  I'm  going  to  commence  to  play 
this  game  in  a  manner  that'll  rather  astonish  you, 
and  a  certain  other  person.  Ta-ta,  guv'nor." 

Mr.  Benjamin  Levy  was  a  smart  young  man,  but 
he  had  a  narrow  escape  that  afternoon,  for  as  he 
was  sauntering  up  and  down  the  platform  at  Wa- 
terloo, whom  should  he  see  within  a  dozen  yards  of 
him  but  Mr.  Maddison  and  Miss  Thurwell.  He  had 
just  time  to  jump  into  a  third-class  carriage,  and 
spread  a  paper  out  before  his  face,  before  they  were 
upon  him. 

"  Jove,  that  was  a  shave !  "  he  muttered  to  him- 
self. "  Blest  if  I  thought  they  were  as  thick  as 
that.  I  wonder  if  she's  going  with  him.  No, 
there's  no  female  luggage,  and  that's  her  maid 
hanging  about  behind  there.  Moses,  ain't  she  a 
slap-up  girl,  and  ain't  they  just  spooney!  D — d  if 
he  ain't  kissed  her !  "  he  wound  up  as  the  train 
glided  out  of  the  station,  leaving  Helen  Thurwell 
on  the  platform  waving  her  handkerchief.  "  Well, 
we're  off.  So  far,  so  good.  I  feel  like  winning." 


1 68  THE  NEW  TENANT 

But,  unfortunately  for  Mr.  Benjamin,  there  was 
a  third  person  in  that  train  whom  neither  he  nor 
Mr.  Maddison  knew  of,  who  was  very  much  inter- 
ested in  the  latter.  Had  he  only  mentioned  his 
name,  or  referred  in  the  slightest  possible  way  to 
his  business  abroad  before  Mr.  Benjamin,  that 
young  gentleman  would  have  promptly  abandoned 
his  expedition  and  returned  to  town.  But,  as  he  did 
not,  all  three  traveled  on  together  in  a  happy  state 
of  ignorance  concerning  each  other;  and  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin Levy  was  very  near  experiencing  the  greatest 
disappointment  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

HELEN   DECIDES   TO    GO    HOME 

MR.  BENJAMIN  LEVY'S  surmise  had  been  an  ac- 
curate one.  Late  in  the  afternoon  of  that  day, 
Helen  Thurwell  called  at  the  little  office  off  the 
Strand,  and  when  she  left  it  an  hour  later,  she  had 
in  her  pocket  a  packet  of  letters,  and  Mr.  Levy  had 
in  his  safe  a  check  and  promissory  note  for  five 
thousand  pounds.  Both  were  very  well  satisfied — 
Mr.  Levy  with  his  money,  and  Helen  with  the  con- 
sciousness that  she  had  saved  her  lover  from  the 
consequences  of  what  she  now  regarded  as  her 
great  folly. 

She  was  to  have  dined  out  that  evening  with  her 
aunt,  but  when  the  time  to  dress  came,  she  pleaded 
a  violent  headache,  and  persuaded  Lady  Thurwell, 
who  was  a  good-natured  little  woman,  to  take  an 
excuse. 

"  But,  my  dear  Helen,  you  don't  look  one  bit  ill," 
she  had  ventured  to  protest,  "  and  the  Cullhamptons 
are  such  nice  people.  Are  you  sure  that  you  won't 
come  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  aunt,"  she  had  begged,  "  I  really 
do  want  to  stay  at  home  this  evening ; "  and  Lady 
Thurwell  had  not  been  able  to  withstand  her  niece's 
imploring  tone,  so  she  had  gone  alone. 

Helen  spent  the  evening  as  she  had  planned  to. 
She  took  her  work  down  into  the  room  where  they 
had  been  the  night  before,  and  where  this  wonder- 

169 


170  THE   NEW  TENANT 

ful  thing  had  happened  to  her.  Then  she  leaned 
back  in  her  low  chair — the  same  chair — and  gave 
herself  up  to  the  luxury  of  thought;  and  when  a 
young  woman  does  that  she  is  very  far  gone  indeed. 
It  was  all  so  strange  to  her,  so  bewildering,  that  she 
needed  time  to  realize  it. 

And  as  she  sat  there,  her  eyes,  full  of  a  soft 
dreamy  light,  fixed  upon  vacancy,  and  her  lips 
parted  in  a  happy  smile,  she  felt  a  sudden  longing 
to  be  back  again  upon  the  moorland  cliffs  round 
Thurwell  Court,  out  in  the  open  country  with  her 
thoughts.  This  town  season  with  its  monotonous 
round  of  gayety  was  nothing  to  her  now.  More 
than  ever,  in  the  enlarged  and  sweeter  life  which 
seemed  opening  up  before  her,  she  saw  the  littleness 
and  enervating  insipidity  of  it  all.  She  would  go 
down  home,  and  take  some  books — the  books  he 
was  fond  of — and  sit  out  on  the  cliffs  by  the  sea 
and  read  and  dream,  and  think  over  all  he  had  said 
to  her,  and  look  forward  to  his  coming;  it  should 
be  there  he  would  find  her.  They  two  alone  would 
stand  together  under  the  blue  sky,  and  wander 
about  in  the  sunshine  over  the  blossoming  moors. 
Would  not  this  be  better  than  meeting  him  again  in 
a  crowded  London  drawing-room?  She  knew  that 
he  would  like  it  best. 

So  when  Lady  Thurwell  returned  from  her  party, 
and  was  sitting  in  her  room  in  a  very  becoming 
dressing  gown,  yawning  and  thinking  over  the 
events  of  the  evening,  there  was  a  little  tap  at  the 
door,  and  Helen  entered,  similarly  attired. 

"  Please  tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  begged,  draw- 
ing up  a  chair  to  the  fire.  "  My  headache  is  quite 
gone." 

"  So  I  should  imagine,"  remarked  Lady  Thur- 
well. "  I  never  saw  you  look  better.  What  have 


THE  NEW  TENANT  171 

you  been  doing  to  yourself,  child?  You  look  like 
Aphrodite  '  new  bathed  in  Paphian  wells/  ' 

"  If  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  I've  had  a  bath," 
laughed  Helen,  "  I  admit  it.  Now,  tell  me  all 
about  this  evening." 

Which  of  course  Lady  Thurwell  did,  and  found 
a  good  deal  to  say  about  the  dresses  and  the  menu. 

"  By  the  bye,"  she  wound  up,  with  a  curious  look 
at  her  niece,  "  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  was  there, 
and  seemed  a  good  deal  disappointed  at  the  absence 
of  a  certain  young  lady." 

"  Indeed !  "  answered  Helen.  "  That  was  very 
nice  of  him.  And  now,  aunt,  do  you  know  what  I 
came  in  to  say  to  you  ?  " 

Lady  Thurwell  shook  her  head. 

"  Haven't  any  idea,  Helen.  Has  anyone  been 
making  love  to  you  ?  " 

Helen  shook  her  head,  but  the  color  gathered  in 
her  cheeks,  and  she  took  up  a  screen,  as  though  to 
protect  her  face  from  the  fire. 

"  I  want  to  go  home,  aunt.  Don't  look  so 
startled,  please.  I  heard  from  papa  this  morning, 
and  he's  not  very  well,  and  Lord  Thurwell  comes 
back  to-morrow,  so  you  won't  be  lonely,  and  I've 
really  quite  made  my  mind  up.  Town  is  very  nice, 
but  I  like  the  country  best." 

"  Like  the  country  best  in  May ! "  Lady  Thur- 
well gasped.  "  My  dear  child,  have  you  taken  leave 
of  your  senses  ?  " 

"  Not  quite,  aunt,"  Helen  answered,  smiling. 
"  Only  it  is  as  I  say.  I  like  the  country  best,  and  I 
would  really  rather  go  home." 

Lady  Thurwell  considered  for  a  full  minute.  Be- 
ing a  very  juvenile  matron,  she  had  by  no  means 
enjoyed  her  role  as  chaperon  to  an  acknowledged 
beauty.  She  had  offered  it  purely  out  of  good 


172  THE  NEW  TENANT 

nature,  and  because,  although  only  related  by  mar- 
riage— Lord  Thurwell  was  the  elder  brother  of  Mr. 
Thurwell,  of  Thurwell  Court,  and  the  head  of  the 
family — still  there  was  no  one  else  to  perform  such 
a  service  for  Helen.  But  if  Helen  did  really  not 
care  for  it,  and  wished  to  return  to  her  country  life, 
why  there  was  no  necessity  for  her  to  make  a  mar- 
tyr of  herself  any  longer. 

"  You  really  mean  this,  Helen?  " 

"  I  do  indeed,  aunt." 

"  Then  it  is  settled.  Make  your  own  arrange- 
ments. I  have  liked  having  you,  child,  and  when- 
ever you  choose  to  come  to  me  again  you  will  be 
welcome.  But  of  course,  it  is  not  everyone  who 
cares  for  town  life,  and  if  you  do  not,  you  are  quite 
right  to  detach  yourself  from  it.  I'm  afraid  I  know 
several  young  men  who'll  take  your  sudden  flight 
very  much  to  heart;  and  one  who  isn't  particularly 
young." 

"  Nonsense !  "  laughed  her  niece.  "  There'll  be 
no  mourning  on  my  account." 

"  We  shall  see,"  remarked  Lady  Thurwell,  sen- 
tentiously.  "  If  one  person  does  not  find  his  way 
down  to  Thurwell  Court  after  you  before  long,  I 
shall  be  surprised." 

"  Please  don't  let  anyone  do  anything  so  stupid, 
aunt,"  pleaded  Helen  with  sudden  warmth.  "  It 
would  be — no  good." 

Lady  Thurwell  lifted  her  eyebrows,  and  looked 
at  her  niece  with  a  curious  little  smile. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

But  Helen  only  laughed.  Her  secret  was  too 
precious  to  part  with — yet. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

MR.    THURWELL   MAKES   SOME  INQUIRIES 

AND  so  Helen  had  her  own  way,  and  went  back 
to  her  home  on  the  moors,  where  Mr.  Thurwell, 
who  had  just  finished  his  hunting  season,  was  very 
glad  to  seo  her,  although  not  a  little  surprised.  But 
she  told  him  no  more  than  she  had  told  her  aunt, 
that  she  had  no  taste  for  London  life.  The  time 
would  soon  come  when  he  would  know  the  whole 
truth,  but  until  her  lover's  return  the  secret  was  her 
own. 

She  had  one  hasty  note  from  him,  posted  in 
Paris  on  his  way  to  Italy,  and  though  there  were 
only  a  few  lines  in  it,  she  treasured  up  the  little 
scrap  of  paper  very  tenderly,  for,  such  as  it  was,  it 
was  her  first  love  letter.  He  had  given  her  an  ad- 
dress in  the  small  town  to  which  he  was  bound,  and 
she  noticed,  with  a  slight  wonder  at  the  coincidence, 
that  it  was  the  same  place  where  he  had  first  seen 
her.  She  had  written  to  him,  and  now  there  had 
come  a  pause.  She  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait. 

But  though  such  waiting  is  at  best  but  a  tedious 
matter,  those  few  days  brought  their  own  peculiar 
happiness  to  her.  She  would  have  found  it  impos- 
sible to  have  confided  her  secret  to  any  human 
being ;  she  had  no  bosom  friend  to  whom  she  could 
go  for  sympathy.  But  her  healthy,  open-air  life, 
her  long  solitary  walks,  and  a  certain  vein  of 
poetry  which  she  undoubtedly  possessed,  had  given 
her  some  of  that  passionate,  almost  personal,  love 

'73 


174  THE  NEW  TENANT 

of  nature  which  is  sweeter  by  far  than  any  human 
friendship.  For  her  those  long  stretches  of  wild 
moorland,  with  the  dark  silent  tarns  and  far-distant 
line  of  blue  hills,  the  high  cliffs  where  the  sea  wind 
roared  with  all  the  bluster  and  fury  of  a  late  March, 
the  sea  itself  with  its  ever-changing  face,  the  faint 
streaks  of  brilliant  color  in  the  evening  sky,  or  the 
wan  glare  of  a  stormy  morning — all  these  things 
had  their  own  peculiar  meaning  to  her,  and  awoke 
always  some  echo  of  response  in  her  heart.  And  it 
chanced  that  at  that  time  all  the  sweet  breezy  fresh- 
ness of  a  late  spring  was  making  glad  the  country 
which  she  loved,  and  the  perfect  sympathy  of  the 
season  with  her  own  happiness  seemed  to  her  very 
sweet,  for  it  was  springtime  too  in  her  heart.  A 
new  life  glowed  in  her  veins,  and  sometimes  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  could  see  the  vista  of  her 
whole  future  bathed  in  the  warm  sunlight  of  a  new- 
born happiness.  The  murmuring  pine  groves,  the 
gay  reveling  of  the  birds,  the  budding  flowers  and 
heath — all  these  things  appealed  to  her  with  a 
strange  sympathetic  force.  So  she  took  long  walks, 
and  came  home  with  sparkling  eyes,  and  her  cheeks 
full  of  a  rich  color,  till  her  father  wondered  what 
had  come  to  his  proud  silent  daughter  to  give  this 
new  buoyancy  to  her  frame,  and  added  physical 
beauty  to  her  face,  which  had  once  seemed  to  him  a 
little  too  spirituelle  and  ethereal. 

Once  more  Helen  and  her  father  sat  at  breakfast 
out  on  the  sheltered  balcony  of  Thurwell  Court. 
Below  them  the  gardens,  still  slightly  coated  with 
the  early  morning  dew,  were  bathed  in  the  glitter- 
ing sunshine,  and  in  the  distance,  and  over  the  tops 
of  the  trees  in  the  park,  a  slight  feathery  mist  was 
curling  upward.  The  sweet,  fresh  air,  still  a  little 
keen,  was  buoyant  with  all  the  joyous  exhilaration 


THE  NEW  TENANT  1 75 

of  spring,  and  nature,  free  at  last  from  the  saddened 
grip  of  winter,  was  reasserting  itself  in  one  glad  tri- 
umphant chorus.  Down  in  the  park  the  slumberous 
cawing  of  the  rooks  triumphed  over  the  lighter- 
voiced  caroling  of  innumerable  thrushes  and  black- 
birds, and  mingled  with  the  faint  humming  of  a 
few  early  bees,  seemed  to  fill  the  air  with  a  sweetly 
blended  strain  of  glad  music.  It  was  one  of  those 
mornings  typical  of  its  own  season,  in  which  the 
whole  atmosphere  seems  charged  with  quickening 
life.  Summer  with  its  warm  luscious  glow,  and 
autumn  with  its  clear  calm  repose,  have  their  own 
special  charms.  But  a  spring  morning,  coming 
after  the  deep  sadness  of  a  hard  winter,  gains  much 
by  the  contrast.  There  is  overflowing  energy  and 
passionate  joy  in  its  newly  beating  pulses,  the  warm 
delight  of  reawakening  life,  happy  to  find  the  earth 
so  fair  a  place,  which  the  staider  charms  of  a  more 
developed  season  altogether  lack. 

It  was  in  some  measure  owing  to  this  influence, 
and  also  to  the  fact  that  she  held  in  her  hand  a  let- 
ter from  her  lover,  which  her  father  had  handed 
her  without  remark,  but  with  a  somewhat  curious 
glance,  that  Helen  was  feeling  very  happy  that 
morning.  The  last  year  had  dealt  strangely  with 
her.  Tragedy  had  thrown  its  startling,  gloomy 
shadow  across  her  life,  and  had  left  traces  which 
could  never  be  altogether  wiped  out.  Anxieties  of 
another  sort  had  come,  perplexities  and  strange  un- 
happy doubts,  although  these  last  had  burned  with 
a  fitful,  uncertain  flame  and  now  seemed  stilled  for 
ever.  But  triumphing  over  all  these  was  this  new- 
born love,  the  great  deep  joy  of  a  woman's  life,  so 
vast,  so  sweet  and  beautiful,  that  it  transfuses  her 
whole  being,  and  seems  to  lift  her  into  another 
world. 


176  THE   NEW  TENANT 

And  so  Helen,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  with  her 
eyes  wandering  idly  over  the  pleasant  gardens  and 
park  below,  to  where,  through  a  deep  gap  in  the 
trees,  was  just  visible  a  faint  blue  line  of  sea,  was 
wrapped  up  very  much  in  her  own  thoughts,  and 
scarcely  doing  her  duty  toward  entertaining  her 
father.  Indeed,  she  seemed  almost  unconscious  of 
his  presence  until  she  looked  up  suddenly  from  a 
letter  he  was  reading  and  asked  her  a  question. 

"  By  the  bye,  Helen,"  he  said,  "  I've  meant  to  ask 
you  something  every  day  since  you've  been  home, 
but  I  have  always  forgotten  it.  Who  was  that 
young  man  who  came  down  here  to  help  Johnson 
with  the  auditing,  and  who  went  away  so  suddenly  ? 
A  protege  of  yours,  I  suppose,  as  he  came  here  on 
your  recommendation  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  interested  in  him,"  she  answered, 
looking  steadily  away,  and  with  a  faint  color  in  her 
cheeks.  "  Why  do  you  ask  ?  Did  he  not  do  his 
work  properly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  did  his  work  very  well,  I  believe," 
Mr.  Thurwell  said  impatiently.  "  It  was  what  he 
did  after  working  hours,  and  which  has  just  come 
to  my  notice,  which  makes  me  ask  you.  It  seems  he 
spent  the  whole  of  his  spare  time  making  covert, 
but  I  must  say  ingenious,  inquiries  respecting  Sir 
Geoffrey's  murder,  and  I  am  also  given  to  under- 
stand that  he  paid  Falcon's  Nest  an  uninvited  visit 
in  the  middle  of  the  night.  What  does  it  all  mean  ? 
Was  it  merely  curiosity,  or  had  he  any  object  in 
it?" 

"  I  think — he  had  an  object,"  she  answered 
slowly. 

"  Indeed !  "  Mr.  Thurwell  raised  his  eyebrows 
and  waited  for  an  explanation. 

"  You  remember,   papa,   that  awful   scene   here 


THE  NEW  TENANT  177 

when  Rachel  Kynaston  died,  and  what  her  last 
words  to  me  were  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  perfectly,"  Mr.  Thurwell  an- 
swered gravely. 

"  Well,  at  that  time  I  could  not  help  having  just 
a  suspicion  that  Mr.  Brown  must  be  mixed  up  in 
it  in  some  way,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  should 
not  be  quite  at  ease  if  I  let  matters  go  on  without 
doing  anything,  so  I — well,  this  young  man  came 
down  here  to  see  whether  he  could  find  out  any- 
thing." 

Mr.  Thurwell  seldom  frowned  at  his  daughter, 
of  whom  he  was  secretly  a  little  afraid,  but  he  did 
so  now.  He  was  seriously  angry. 

"  It  was  not  a  matter  for  you  to  have  concerned 
yourself  in  at  all,"  he  said,  rising  from  his  seat. 
"  At  least,  I  should  have  been  consulted." 

"  It  was  all  very  foolish,  I  know,"  she  admitted 
humbly. 

"  It  was  worse  than  foolish ;  it  was  wrong  and 
undutiful,"  he  declared.  "  I  am  astonished  that  my 
daughter  should  have  mixed  herself  up  with  such 
underhand  work.  And  may  I  ask  why  I  was  kept 
in  ignorance  ?  " 

"  Because  you  would  not  have  allowed  me  to  do 
what  I  did,"  she  said  quietly,  with  downcast  eyes. 
"  I  thought  it  was  my  duty.  I  have  been  punished 
— punished  severely." 

He  softened  a  little,  and  resumed  his  seat.  She 
was  certainly  very  contrite.  He  was  silent  for  a 
moment  or  two,  and  then  asked  her  a  question. 

"  Did  this  young  man — detective,  I  suppose  he 
was — find  out  anything  about  Mr.  Brown  ?  " 

She  looked  up,  a  little  surprised  at  the  curiosity 
in  his  tone. 

"  Why,  papa,  it  was  I  who  found  out  how  stupid 


178  THE  NEW.  TENANT 

I  had  been,"  she  said.  "  When  I  discovered  that 
our  mysterious  tenant  was  Bernard  Maddison,  of 
course  I  saw  the  absurdity  of  suspecting  him  at 
once." 

Mr.  Thurwell  moved  a  little  uneasily  in  his 
chair. 

"  He  did  not  find  out  anything,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  was  silent.  She  had  not  expected  this,  and 
she  scarcely  knew  how  to  answer. 

"  He  found  out  what  Mr.  Brown — I  mean  Mr. 
Maddison — himself  told  me,  that  he  had  known  Sir 
Geoffrey  abroad." 

"Nothing  more?" 

"I  did  not  ask.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  not 
interested.  The  idea  of  Mr.  Maddison  being  con- 
nected with  such  a  crime  is  simply  ridiculous.  I 
was  heartily  sorry  that  I  had  ever  taken  any  steps 
at  all." 

Mr.  Thurwell  lit  a  cigarette,  and  drew  his  re- 
maining letters  toward  him. 

"  I  must  confess,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  when 
his  house  was  searched  in  my  presence,  and  all  that 
we  discovered  was  that  Mr.  Brown  was  really  Ber- 
nard Maddison,  I  felt  very  much  as  you  feel;  and, 
as  you  no  doubt  remember,  I  went  out  of  my  way 
to  be  civil  to  the  man,  and  brought  him  up  here  to 
dine.  But  since  then  things  have  cropped  up,  and 
I'm  bound  to  say  that  it  looks  a  little  queer.  I 
hear  that  young  man  of  yours  told  several  people 
that  he  had  in  his  pocket  what  would  bring  Mr. 
Brown  to  the  scaffold  any  day." 

"  It  is  not  true,"  she  answered  in  a  low  firm 
tone.  "  I  know  that  it  is  not  true." 

Mr.  Thurwell  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  hope  not,  I'm  sure.  Still,  I'd  rather  he  did 
not  come  back  here  again.  Some  one  must  have 


THE  NEW  TENANT  179 

done  it,  you  see,  and  if  it  was  a  stranger,  he  must 
have  been  a  marvelous  sort  of  fellow  to  come  into 
this  lonely  part  of  the  country,  and  go  away  again 
without  leaving  a  single  trace." 

"  Criminals  are  all  clever  at  disguises,"  she  in- 
terposed. 

"  Doubtless ;  but  they  have  yet  to  learn  the  art  of 
becoming  invisible,"  he  went  on  drily.  "  I'm  afraid 
it's  no  use  concealing  the  fact  that  things  look 
black  against  Maddison,  and  there  is  more  than  a 
whisper  in  the  county  about  it.  If  he's  a  wise 
fellow,  he'll  keep  away  from  here." 

"  He  will  not,"  she  answered.  "  He  will  come 
back.  He  is  innocent !  " 

Mr.  Thurwell  saw  the  rising  flush  in  his  daugh- 
ter's face,  but  he  had  no  suspicion  as  to  its  real 
cause.  He  knew  that  Bernard  Maddison  was  one 
of  her  favorite  authors,  and  he  put  her  defence  of 
him  down  to  that  fact.  He  was  not  a  particularly 
warm  advocate  on  either  side,  and  suddenly  remem- 
bering his  unopened  letters,  he  abandoned  the  dis- 
cussion. 

Helen,  whose  calm  happiness  had  been  altogether 
disturbed,  rose  in  a  few  minutes  with  the  intention 
of  making  her  escape.  But  her  father,  with  an 
open  letter  in  his  hand,  checked  her. 

"  Have  you  been  seeing  much  of  Sir  Allen  Beau- 
merville  in  town,  Helen  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  a  great  deal.     Why  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  He's  coming  down  here,"  Mr.  Thurwell  said. 
"  He  asks  whether  we  can  put  him  up  for  a  night 
or  two,  as  he  wants  to  do  some  botanizing.  Of 
course  we  shall  be  very  pleased.  I  did  give  him  a 
general  invitation,  I  remember,  but  I  never  thought 
he'd  come.  You'll  see  about  having  some  rooms 
got  ready,  Helen !  " 


i8o  THE  NEW  TENANT 

"  Yes,  papa,  I'll  see  to  it,"  she  answered,  moving 
slowly  away. 

What  could  this  visit  in  the  middle  of  the  season 
mean?  she  wondered  uneasily.  It  was  so  unlike 
Sir  Allan  to  leave  town  in  May.  Could  it  be  that 
what  her  aunt  had  once  laughingly  hinted  at  was 
really  going  to  happen?  Her  cheeks  burned  at 
the  very  thought.  She  liked  Sir  Allan,  and  she 
had  found  him  a  delightful  companion,  but  even  to 
think  of  any  other  man  now  in  such  a  connection 
seemed  unreal  and  grotesque.  After  all,  it  was 
most  improbable.  Sir  Allan  had  only  shown  her 
the  attention  he  showed  every  woman  who  pleased 
his  fastidious  taste. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

SIR  ALLAN  BEAUMERVILLE  VISITS  THE  COURT 

On  the  following  day  Sir  Allan  duly  arrived, 
and  in  a  very  short  space  of  time  Helen's  fears 
had  altogether  vanished.  His  appearance  was  cer- 
tainly not  that  of  an  anxious  wooer.  He  was 
pale  and  haggard  and  thin,  altogether  a  different 
person  to  the  brilliant  man  about  town  who  was 
such  a  popular  figure  in  society.  Something 
seemed  to  have  aged  him.  There  were  lines  and 
wrinkles  in  his  face  which  had  never  appeared  there 
before,  and  an  air  of  restless  depression  in  his  man- 
ner and  bearing  quite  foreign  to  his  former  self. 

On  the  first  evening  Mr.  Thurwell  broached  some 
plans  for  his  entertainment,  but  Sir  Allan  stopped 
him  at  once. 

"  If  I  may  be  allowed  to  choose,"  he  said,  "  I 
should  like  to  be  absolutely  quiet  for  a  few  days. 
London  life  is  not  the  easiest  in  the  world,  and  I'm 
afraid  I  must  be  getting  an  old  man.  At  any  rate 
I  am  knocked  up,  and  I  want  a  rest." 

"  You  have  come  to  the  right  place  for  that," 
Mr.  Thurwell  laughed.  "  You  could  live  here  for 
months  and  never  see  a  soul  if  you  chose.  But 
I'm  afraid  you'll  soon  be  bored." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  that,"  Sir  Allan  answered 
quietly.  "  Besides,  my  excuse  was  not  altogether 
a  fiction.  I  really  am  an  enthusiastic  botanist, 
and  I  want  to  take  up  my  researches  here  just 

181 


182  THE  NEW  TENANT 

where  I  was  obliged  to  leave  them  off  so  suddenly 
last  year." 

Mr.  Thurwell  nodded. 

"  I  remember,"  he  said ;  "  you  were  staying  at 
Mallory,  weren't  you,  when  that  sad  affair  to  poor 
Kynaston  happened  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Sir  Allan  moved  his  chair  a  little,  as  though  to 
escape  from  the  warmth  of  the  fire,  and  sat  where 
the  heavily  shaded  lamp  left  his  face  in  the 
shadow. 

"  Yes,  that  was  a  terrible  affair,"  he  said  in  a 
low  tone ;  "  and  a  very  mysterious  one.  Nothing 
has  ever  been  heard  of  the  murderer,  I  suppose?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  And  there  are  no  rumors,  no  suspicions  ?  " 

Mr.  Thurwell  looked  uneasily  around,  as  though 
to  satisfy  himself  that  there  were  no  servants  lin- 
gering in  the  room. 

"  It  is  scarcely  a  thing  to  be  talked  about,"  he 
said  slowly;  "but  there  have  been  things  said." 

"About  whom?" 

"About  my  tenant  at  Falcon's  Nest — Bernard 
Maddison,  as  he  turned  out  to  be." 

"Ah!" 

Mr.  Thurwell  looked  at  his  guest  wonderingly. 
He  could  not  quite  make  up  his  mind  whether  he 
was  profoundly  indifferent  or  equally  interested. 
His  tone  sounded  a  little  cold. 

"  There  was  a  fellow  down  here  in  my  employ," 
continued  Mr.  Thurwell,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar, 
"  who  turns  out  to  have  been  a  spy  or  detective  of 
some  sort.  Of  course  I  knew  nothing  of  it  at  the 
time — in  fact,  I've  only  just  found  it  out;  but  it 
seems  he  ransacked  Falcon's  Nest  and  discovered 
some  papers  which  he  avowed  quite  openly  would 


THE  NEW  TENANT  183 

hang  Mr.  Maddison.  But  what's  become  of  him  I 
don't  know." 

"  I  suppose  he  didn't  disclose  the  nature  of  the 
papers  ?  "  Sir  Allan  asked  quietly. 

"  No,  he  didn't  go  as  far  as  that.  By  the  bye, 
yoil  know  every  one,  Beaumerville.  Who  is  this 
Bernard  Maddison?  Of  course  I  know  all  about 
his  writing  and  that;  but  what  family  is  he  of?  He 
is  certainly  a  gentleman." 

Sir  Allan  threw  away  his  cigarette,  and  rose. 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  once,  but  I  don't  remem- 
ber for  the  moment.  ^Miss  Helen  promised  us  a 
little  music,  didn't  she  ?  "  he  added.  "  If  you  are 
ready,  shall  we  go  and  remind  her  ?  " 

Sir  Allan  brought  the  conversation  to  an  end 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  and  during  the  re- 
mainder of  his  stay  Mr.  Thurwell  noticed  that  he 
carefully  avoided  any  reopening  of  it.  Evidently 
his  guest  has  no  taste  for  horrors. 

Sir  Allan  rose  late  on  the  following  morning, 
and  until  lunch-time  begged  for  the  use  of  the 
library,  where  he  remained  writing  letters  and 
reading  up  the  flora  of  the  neighborhood.  Early 
in  the  afternoon  he  appeared  equipped  for  his  bot- 
anizing expedition. 

"  Helen  shall  go  with  you  and  show  you  the  most 
likely  places,"  Mr.  Thurwell  had  said  at  luncheon. 
But  though  Sir  Allan  had  bowed  courteously,  and 
had  expressed  himself  as  charmed,  he  had  not  said 
another  word  about  it,  so  when  the  time  came  he 
started  alone.  On  the  whole  Helen,  although  she 
was  by  no  means  ill-pleased,  was  not  a  little 
puzzled.  In  London,  when  it  was  sometimes  diffi- 
cult to  obtain  a  place  by  her  side  at  all,  Sir  Allan 
had  been  the  most  assiduous  and  attentive  of  cav- 
aliers; but  now  that  they  were  quite  alone  in  the 


184  THE  NEW  TENANT 

country,  and  her  company  was  even  offered  to  him, 
he  showed  himself  by  no  means  eager  to  avail  him- 
self of  it.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  deliberately  pre- 
ferred doing  his  botanizing  alone.  Well,  she  was 
quite  satisfied,  she  thought,  with  a  little  laugh.  It 
was  far  better  this  way  than  the  other.  Still  she 
was  puzzled. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  she  started  for  her  favor- 
ite walk  alone.  She  nearly  always  chose  the  same 
way  along  the  cliffs,  through  the  fir  plantation,  and 
sometimes  as  far  as  the  hill  by  the  side  of  which 
was  Falcon's  Nest.  It  was  a  walk  full  of  associa- 
tions for  her,  associations  which  had  become  so 
dear  a  part  of  her  life  that  she  always  strove  to 
heighten  them  even  by  choosing  the  same  hour  of 
the  day  for  her  walk  as  that  well-remembered  one 
when  they  had  stood  hand-in-hand  for  a  single 
moment  in  the  shadows  of  the  darkening  planta- 
tion. And  again,  as  it  had  done  many  times  before, 
her  heart  beat  fast,  and  sweet  memories  began  to 
steal  back  to  her  as  she  passed  under  those  black 
waving  branches  moaning  slightly  in  the  evening 
breeze,  and  pressed  under  foot  the  brown  leaves 
which  in  a  sodden  mass  carpeted  the  winding  path. 
Yes,  it  was  here  by  that  tall  slender  fir  that  they  had 
stood  for  that  one  moment  of  intense  happiness, 
when  the  thunder  of  the  sea  filling  the  air  around 
them  had  almost  forbidden  speech,  and  the  strange 
light  had  flashed  in  his  dark  eyes.  She  passed  the 
spot  with  slow,  lingering  steps  and  quickening 
pulses,  and  opening  the  little  hand-gate,  climbed 
slowly  up  the  cliff. 

At  the  summit  she  paused  and  looked  around.  A 
low  grey  mist  hung  over  the  moor,  and  twilight 
had  cast  its  mantle  of  half-veiled  obscurity  over 
sea  and  land.  A  wind  too  had  sprung  up,  blow- 


THE  NEW  TENANT  185 

ing  her  ulster  and  skirts  around  her,  and  driving 
the  mist  across  the  moor  in  clouds  of  small,  fine 
rain.  Before  her  she  could  just  see  the  dim  outline 
of  the  opposite  hill,  with  its  dark  patch  of  firs,  and 
Falcon's  Nest,  bare  and  distinct,  close  up  against 
its  side.  The  wind  and  tKe  rain  blew  against  her, 
but  she  took  no  heed.  All  personal  discomforts 
seemed  so  little  beside  these  memories  tinged  with 
such  a  peculiar  sweetness.  It  is  a  fact  that  a  woman 
is  able  to  extract  far  more  pleasure  from  memories 
than  a  man,  for  there  is  in  his  nature  a  certain  im- 
patience which  makes  it  impossible  for  him  to  keep 
his  thought  fixed  steadfastly  upon  the  past.  The 
vivid  flashes  of  memory  which  do  come  to  him  only 
incite  a  great  restlessness  for  its  renewal,  which, 
if  it  be  for  the  time  impossible,  is  only  disquieting 
and  discontenting.  But  for  a  woman,  her  love  it- 
self, even  though  it  be  for  the  time  detached  from 
its  object,  is  a  sweet  and  precious  thing.  She  can 
yield  herself  up  to  its  influence,  can  steep  her  mind 
and  soul  in  it,  till  a  glow  of  intense  happiness  steals 
through  her  whole  frame;  and  hence  her  patience 
during  separation  is  so  much  greater  than  a  man's. 

And  it  was  so  to  a  certain  extent  with  Helen. 
Those  few  moments  of  intense  abstraction  had  their 
own  peculiar  pleasure  for  her,  and  it  was  only  the 
sound  of  the  far-off  clock  borne  by  the  wind  across 
the  moor  from  Thurwell  Court  which  recalled  her 
to  herself.  Then  she  started,  and  in  a  moment 
more  would  have  been  on  her  way  home. 

But  that  lingering  farewell  glance  toward  Fal- 
con's Nest  suddenly  changed  into  a  startled  fearful 
gaze.  Her  heart  beat  fast,  and  she  took  an  involun- 
tary step  forward.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it. 
A  dim  moving  light  shone  from  the  lower  windows 
of  the  cottage. 


186  THE  NEW  TENANT 

Her  first  wild  thought  was  that  her  lover  had 
himself  returned,  and  a  thrill  of  intense  joy  passed 
through  her  whole  being,  only  to  die  away  before 
the  cold  chill  of  a  heart-sickening  dread.  Was  it 
not  far  more  likely  to  be  an  intruder  of  the  type  of 
Benjamin  Levy,  a  spy  or  emissary  of  the  law, 
searching  amongst  his  papers  as  Benjamin  Levy 
had  done,  for  the  same  hideous  reason.  Her  heart 
sank  with  fear,  and  then  leaped  up  with  the  fierce 
defensive  instinct  of  a  woman  who  sees  her  lover's 
enemies  working  for  his  ruin.  She  did  not  hesitate 
for  an  instant,  but  walked  swiftly  along  the  cliff- 
side  towards  that  tremulous  light. 

The  twilight  was  fast  deepening,  and  the  cold 
grey  tint  of  the  dull  afternoon  was  gradually  be- 
coming blotted  out  into  darkness.  As  she  drew 
nearer  to  her  destination,  the  low  moaning  of  the 
sea  below  became  mingled  with  the  melancholy 
sighing  of  the  wind  amongst  the  thick  fir  trees 
which  overhung  the  cottage.  The  misty  rain  blew 
in  her  face  and  penetrated  her  thick  ulster.  Every- 
thing around  was  as  dreary  and  lonely  as  it  could 
be.  The  only  sign  of  any  human  life  was  that  faint 
glimmering  light  now  stationary,  as  though  the 
searcher  whoever  he  might  be,  had  found  what  he 
wanted,  and  had  settled  down  in  one  of  the  rooms. 

As  she  drew  nearer  she  saw  which  it  was,  and 
trembled.  All  the  rest  of  the  cottage  was  in  black 
darkness.  The  light  shone  only  from  the  window 
of  that  little  inner  study  on  the  ground  floor. 

She  had  passed  through  the  gate,  and  with  beat- 
ing heart  approached  the  window.  A  few  yards 
away  she  paused  and  looked  in. 

A  candle  was  burning  on  a  small  bracket,  and, 
though  its  light  was  but  dim,  it  showed  her  every- 
thing. The  cabinet  was  open,  and  papers  were 


THE   NEW  TENANT  187 

strewn  about,  as  though  thrown  right  and  left  in  a 
desperate  search;  and,  with  his  back  to  her,  a  man 
was  seated  before  it,  his  bared  head  resting  upon 
his  arms,  and  his  whole  attitude  full  of  the  passion- 
ate abandonment  of  a  great  despair.  She  had  but 
one  thought.  It  was  her  lover  returned,  and  he 
needed  her  consolation.  With  a  new  light  in  her 
face  she  turned  and  moved  softly  toward  the  front 
door.  As  she  reached  the  threshold  she  paused  and 
drew  back.  There  was  the  sound  of  footsteps  in- 
side. 

She  stepped  behind  a  bush  and  waited.  In  a 
moment  the  door  of  the  cottage  was  thrown  sud- 
denly open,  and  the  tall  figure  of  a  man  stood  in 
the  entrance.  For  one  moment  he  hesitated.  Then 
with  a  sudden  passionate  gesture  he  raised  his 
hands  high  above  his  head,  and  she  heard  a  long 
deep  moan  burst  from  his  quivering  lips. 

The  pity  which  swelled  up  in  her  heart  she  kept 
back  with  a  strong  hand.  A  strange  bewilderment 
was  creeping  over  her.  She  had  seen  only  the  dark 
outline  of  the  figure,  but  surely  it  was  not  the  figure 
of  her  lover.  And  then  she  held  her  breath,  and 
walking  swiftly  away,  passing  so  close  to  her  that 
she  could  look  into  his  white,  strained  face,  Sir 
Allan  Beaumerville  strode  down  the  garden,  and 
disappeared  in  the  shadows  of  the  plantation. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

THE   SCENE   CHANGES 

The  midday  sun  had  risen  into  a  sky  of  deep 
cloudless  blue,  and  a  silence  almost  as  intense 
as  the  silence  of  night  rested  upon  the  earth.  No 
one  was  abroad,  no  one  seemed  to  have  anything 
particular  to  do.  Far  away  on  the  vine-covered 
slopes  a  few  peasants  were  lazily  bending  over  their 
work,  the  bright  garments  of  their  picturesque 
attire  standing  out  like  little  specks  of  brilliant 
coloring  against  the  dun-colored  background.  But 
in  the  quaint  old-fashioned  town  itself  no  one  was 
astir.  One  solitary  Englishman  made  his  way 
alone  and  almost  unnoticed  through  the  queer  zig- 
zag streets,  up  the  worn  grey  steps  by  the  famous 
statute  of  Minerva,  and  on  to  the  terraced  walk, 
fronting  which  were  the  aristocratic  villas  of  the 
little  Italian  town. 

It  was  a  solitude  which  was  pleasing  to  him,  for 
it  was  very  evident,  that  he  was  no  curious  tourist, 
or  casual  visitor  of  any  sort.  His  eyes  were  full  of 
that  eager  half-abstracted  look  which  so  clearly  de- 
notes the  awakening  of  old  associations,  quickened 
into  life  by  familiar  surroundings;  and,  indeed,  it 
was  so.  To  Bernard  Maddison,  every  stone  in  that 
quietly  sleeping,  picturesque  old  town  spoke  with  a 
language  of  its  own.  The  very  atmosphere,  laden 
with  the  sultry  languorous  heat  of  a  southern  sun, 
seemed  charged  with  memories.  Their  influence 

188 


THE   NEW  TENANT  189 

was  strong  upon  him,  and  he  walked  like  a  man 
in  a  dream,  until  he  reached  what  seemed  to  be  his 
destination,  and  here  he  paused. 

He  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  terraced  walk,  the 
evening  promenade  of  the  whole  town.  Before  him 
was  a  small  orange  grove,  whose  aromatic  odor, 
faintly  penetrating  the  still  air,  added  one  more  to 
his  stock  of  memories.  On  his  right  hand  was  a 
grey  stone  wall,  worn  and  tottering  with  age,  and 
overhung  with  green  creepers  and  shrubs,  reaching 
over  and  hanging  down  from  the  other  side,  and  let 
into  it,  close  to  him,  was  a  low  nail-studded  door  of 
monastic  shape,  half  hidden  by  a  luxurious  droop- 
ing shrub,  from  amongst  the  foliage  of  which 
peeped  out  star-like  clusters  of  soft  scarlet  flowers. 

For  many  moments  he  stood  before  that  door, 
with  his  hand  resting  upon  the  rusty  latch,  linger- 
ing in  a  sort  of  apathy,  as  though  he  were  unwilling 
to  disturb  some  particular  train  of  thought.  Then 
a  mellow-sounding  bell  from  a  convent  in  the  valley 
below  startled  him,  and  immediately  he  lifted  the 
latch  before  him.  There  was  no  other  fastening, 
and  the  door  opened.  He  stepped  inside,  and  care- 
fully reclosed  it. 

He  was  in  a  garden,  a  garden  of  desolation, 
which  nature  seemed  to  have  claimed  for  her  own 
and  made  beautiful.  It  was  a  picture  of  luxuriant 
overgrowth.  The  grass  on  the  lawns  had  become 
almost  a  jungle.  It  had  grown  up  over  the  base  of 
the  deep  grey  stone  basins  of  exquisite  shape  and 
carving,  the  tiny  statuettes  tottering  into  ruin,  and 
the  worn  old  sun-dial,  across  which  the  slanting 
rays  of  the  sun  still  glanced.  Weeds,  too,  had  crept 
up  around  them  in  picturesque  toils,  weeds  which 
had  started  to  destroy,  but  remained  to  adorn  with 
all  the  sweet  abandon  of  unrestrained  growth. 


190  THE   NEW  TENANT 

Some  of  them  had  put  forth  brilliant  Wossoms  of 
many  hues,  little  spots  of  exquisite  coloring  against 
the  sombre  hue  of  the  stonework  and  the  deep  green 
of  the  leaves.  Everywhere  nature  had  triumphed 
over  science  and  skill.  Everything  was  changed, 
and  nature  had  shown  herself  a  more  perfect  gar- 
dener than  man.  The  gravel  paths  were  embedded 
with  soft  green  moss,  studded  with  clumps  of  white 
and  purple  violets,  whose  faint  fragrance,  mingled 
with  the  more  exotic  scent  of  other  plants,  filled  the 
warm  air  with  a  peculiar  dreamy  perfume.  No- 
where had  the  hand  of  man  sought  to  restrain  or 
to  develop.  Nature  had  had  her  own  way,  and  had 
made  for  herself  a  fair  garden. 

A  little  overcome  by  the  heat,  and  a  little,  too,  by 
swiftly  stirring  memories,  Bernard  Maddison  sank 
down  upon  a  low  iron  seat,  under  the  shade  of  a 
little  clump  of  almond  trees,  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands.  And  there  came  to  him,  as  he  sat 
there,  something  more  vivid  than  an  ordinary  day- 
dream, something  so  real  and  minutely  played  out, 
that  afterwards  it  possessed  for  him  all  the  fresh- 
ness and  significance  of  a  veritable  trance.  It 
seemed,  indeed,  as  if  some  mysterious  force  had 
drawn  aside  the  curtain  of  the  past  in  his  mind,  and 
had  bidden  him  look  out  once  more  upon  the  mov- 
ing figures  in  a  living  drama. 


The  warm  sunlight  faded  from  the  sky,  the  sum- 
mer heat  died  out  of  the  air,  the  soft  velvety  mantle 
of  a  southern  night  lay  upon  the  brooding  land. 
Many  stars  were  burning  in  the  deep-blue  heavens, 
and  the  horned  moon,  golden  and  luminous,  hung 
low  down  in  the  west. 

Pale,  and  with  the  fever  of  a  great  anger  burning 


THE   NEW  TENANT  191 

in  his  dry  eyes,  a  man  sat  at  the  open  window  of  the 
villa  yonder,  watching.  Around  him  were  scattered 
all  the  signs  of  arduous  brain  labor,  books,  manu- 
scripts, classical  dictionaries,  and  works  of  reference. 
But  his  pen  had  fallen  from  his  hand,  and  he  was 
doing  nothing.  He  sat  there  idle,  gazing  out  upon 
the  fantastic  shapes  and  half-veiled  gloom  of  this 
fair  garden.  Its  rich  balmy  odors,  and  the  fainter 
perfume  of  rarer  plants  which  floated  languidly  in 
through  the  open  window,  were  nothing  to  him. 
He  was  barely  conscious  of  the  sweet  delights  of 
the  voluptuous  summer  night.  He  was  watching 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  east,  where  morning 
would  soon  be  breaking. 

It  came  at  last — what  he  was  waiting  for.  There 
was  a  slight  click  of  the  latch  from  the  old  postern 
door  in  the  wall,  and  the  low  murmur  of  voices — a 
man's,  pleading  and  passionate,  and  a  woman's, 
half  gay,  half  mocking.  Then  the  door  opened  and 
shut,  and  a  tall  fair  lady  walked  leisurely  up  toward 
the  villa. 

She  wore  no  hat,  but  a  hooded  opera-cloak  was 
thrown  loosely  over  her  shoulders,  and  as  she 
strolled  up  the  path,  pausing  every  now  and  then  to 
carelessly  gather  a  handful  of  the  drooping  lih'es, 
whose  perfume  made  faint  the  heavy  night  air,  its 
folds  parted,  and  revealed  brief  glimpses  of  soft 
white  drapery  and  flashing  jewels  on  her  bosom 
and  in  her  hair.  Her  feet,  too,  were  cased  in  tiny 
white  satin  slippers,  which  seemed  scarcely  to  press 
the  ground,  so  lightly  and  gracefully  she  walked. 
Altogether  she  was  very  fair  to  look  upon — the 
fairest  sight  in  all  that  lovely  garden. 

Not  so  seemed  to  think  the  man  who  stood  back 
in  the  shadow  of  the  window,  waiting  for  her.  His 
white  face  was  ghastly  with  passion,  and  his  fingers 


192  THE   NEW  TENANT 

were  nervously  interlaced  in  the  curtains.  It  was 
only  with  a  supreme  effort  that  he  at  last  flung  them 
from  him,  and  moved  forward  as  though  to  meet 
her. 

She  saw  him  standing  there,  pale  and  rigid, 
like  a  carved  statue,  save  for  the  passion  which 
burned  in  his  eyes,  and  for  a  moment  she  hesitated. 
Then,  with  the  resigned  air  of  one  who  makes 
up  her  mind  to  face  something  disagreeable,  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  throwing  away  the 
handful  of  lilies  she  had  gathered,  advanced  toward 
him. 

They  neither  of  them  spoke  until  they  stood  face 
to  face.  Then,  as  his  motionless  form  prevented 
her  stepping  through  the  window,  and  barred  her 
further  progress,  she  came  to  a  standstill,  and  ad- 
dressed him  lightly. 

"  Yours  is  a  strange  welcome  home,  mon  ami," 
she  said.  "  Why  do  you  stand  there  looking  so 
fierce?" 

He  pointed  with  shaking  fingers  away  toward 
the  east,  where  a  faint  gleam  of  daylight  was  light- 
ening the  sky. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  he  asked  harshly. 
"  Can  you  not  see  that  it  is  morning?  All  night 
long  I  have  sat  here  watching  for  you.  Where 
have  you  been  ?  " 

"  You  know  very  well  where  I  have  been,"  she 
answered  carelessly.  "  To  the  ball  at  the  Leon 
d'Or.  I  told  you  that  I  was  going." 

"  Told  me !  You  told  me !  Did  I  not  forbid  it  ? 
Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  would  not  have  you  go  ?  " 

"  Nevertheless,  I  have  been,"  she  answered 
lightly.  "  It  was  an  engagement,  and  I  never 
break  engagements." 

"  An  engagement  ?     You,  with  no  chaperon,  to 


THE  NEW  TENANT  193 

go  to  a  common  ball  at  a  public  room!  An  en- 
gagement. Yes,  with  your  lover,  I  presume." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  yawned  in  his 
face. 

"  You  are  in  a  bad  temper,  I  fear,"  she  said. 
"  At  least,  you  are  very  rude.  Let  me  pass,  will 
you  ?  I  am  tired  of  standing  here." 

He  was  beside  himself  with  passion,  and  for  a 
second  or  two  he  did  not  speak.  But  when  at  last 
the  words  came,  they  were  clear  and  distinct 
enough. 

"  Into  this  house  you  shall  never  pass  again,"  he 
said.  "  You  have  disregarded  my  wishes,  you  have 
disobeyed  my  orders,  and  now  you  are  deceiving 
me.  You  are  trifling  with  my  honor.  You  are 
bringing  shame  upon  my  name.  Go  and  keep  your 
assignations  from  another  roof.  Mine  has  sheltered 
your  intrigues  long  enough !  " 

The  hand  which  had  kept  together  her  opera- 
cloak  relinquished  its  grasp,  and  it  fell  back  upon 
her  shoulders.  The  whole  beauty  of  her  sinuous 
figure,  in  its  garb  of  dazzling  white,  stood  revealed. 
The  moonlight  gleamed  in  her  fair  hair,  bound  up 
with  one  glittering  gem,  shone  softly  upon  her 
white  swelling  throat  and  bare  arms,  and  flashed 
in  her  dark  eyes,  suddenly  full  of  passion.  Her 
right  hand  was  nervously  clasped  around  a  little 
morsel  of  lace  handkerchief  which  she  had  drawn 
from  the  folds  of  her  corsage,  and  which  seemed  to 
make  the  air  around  heavy  with  a  sweet  perfume. 

"  You  are  angry,  and  you  do  not  know  what  you 
are  saying,"  she  said.  "  It  is  true  that  you  forbade 
me  to  go  to-night — but  you  forbid  everything.  I 
cannot  live  your  life.  It  is  too  dull,  too  triste.  It 
is  cruel  of  you  to  expect  it.  Let  me  go  in  now.  If 
you  want  to  scold,  you  can  do  so  to-niorrow." 


194  THE   NEW  TENANT 

She  stepped  forward,  but  he  laid  his  hands  upon 
her  dainty  shoulders  and  pushed  her  roughly  back. 

"  Never !  "  he  cried  savagely.  "  Go  and  live  what 
life  you  choose.  This  is  no  home  for  you.  Go,  I 
say!" 

She  looked  at  him,  her  lovely  eyes  turned  plead- 
ingly upwards,  and  her  lips  trembling. 

"  You  are  mad !  "  she  said.  "  Am  I  not  your 
wife?  You  have  no  right  to  keep  me  here.  And 
my  boy,  too.  Let  me  pass." 

He  did  not  move,  nor  did  he  show  any  sign  of 
yielding.  He  stood  there  with  his  hand  stretched 
out  in  a  threatening  gesture  toward  her,  his  face 
pale  and  mute  as  marble,  but  with  the  blind  rage 
still  burning  in  his  dark  eyes. 

"  What  is  the  boy,  or  what  am  I  to  you  ?  "  he 
cried  hoarsely.  "  Begone,  woman !  " 

Still  she  did  not  seem  to  understand. 

"  Where  would  you  have  me  go  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Is  not  this  my  home  ?  What  have  I " 

"  Go  to  your  lover ! "  he  interrupted  fiercely. 
"  Tell  him  that  your  husband  is  no  longer  your 
tool.  He  will  take  you  in." 

A  burning  color  streamed  into  her  delicate 
cheeks,  and  a  sudden  passion  blazed  in  her  eyes. 
She  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height  and  turned 
upon  him  with  the  dignity  of  an  empress. 

"  Listen  to  me  one  moment,"  she  said.  "  Ask 
yourself  whether  you  have  ever  tried  to  make  my 
life  a  happy  one.  Did  I  ever  pretend  to  care  for 
books  and  solitude?  Before  I  married  you  I  told 
you  that  I  was  fond  of  change  and  gaiety  and  life, 
and  you  promised  me  that  I  should  have  it.  Ask 
yourself  how  you  have  kept  that  promise.  You 
deny  me  every  pleasure,  and  drive  me  to  seek  them 
alone.  I  am  weary  of  your  jealous  furies,  and  your 


THE  NEW  TENANT  195 

evil  temper.  As  God  looks  down  upon  us  at  this 
moment,  I  have  been  a  faithful  wife  to  you ;  but  if 
you  will  add  to  all  your  cruelties  this  cowardly, 
miserable  indignity,  then  I  will  never  willingly 
look  upon  your  face  again,  and  what  sin  I  do  will 
be  on  your  head,  not  mine.  Will  you  stand  aside 
and  let  me  pass  ?  " 

"  Never !  "  he  answered.     "  Never !  " 

She  drew  her  mantle  round  her  shoulders,  and 
turned  her  back  upon  him  with  a  contemptuous 
gesture. 

"  You  have  made  me  what  I  shall  be,"  she  said. 
"  The  sin  be  with  you.  For  several  weary  years 
you  have  made  me  miserable.  Now  you  have  made 
me  wicked." 

She  walked  away  into  the  perfumed  darkness, 
and  presently  he  heard  the  gate  close  behind  her. 
He  listened  frantically,  hoping  to  hear  her  return- 
ing steps.  It  was  in  vain.  All  was  silent.  Then 
he  felt  his  limbs  totter,  and  he  sank  back  on  a 
couch,  and  buried  his  face  amongst  the  cushions. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

BENJAMIN  LEVY  RUNS  HIS  QUARRY  TO  EARTH 

The  slumberous  afternoon  wore  slowly  away. 
A  slight  breeze  rustled  amongst  the  cypresses 
and  the  olive  tree,  and  the  air  grew  clearer.  The 
sun  was  low  in  the  heavens,  and  long  shadows  lay 
across  the  brilliant  patches  of  flowers,  half  wild, 
half  cultivated,  and  on  the  moss-grown  walks. 

Still  Bernard  Maddison  made  no  movement.  It 
may  have  been  that  he  shrunk  from  what  was  be- 
fore him,  or  it  may  have  been  that  he  had  some  spe- 
cial purpose  in  thus  calling  up  those  broken  visions 
of  the  past  into  his  mind.  For,  as  he  sat  there,  they 
still  thronged  in  upon  him,  disjointed  and  confused, 
yet  all  tinged  with  that  peculiar  sadness  which 
seemed  to  have  lain  heavy  upon  his  life. 

Again  the  memory  of  those  long  lonely  days  of 
his  boyhood  stole  in  upon  him.  He  thought  of  that 
terrible  day  when  his  father  stood  by  his  bedside, 
and  had  bidden  him  in  an  awful  voice  ask  no  more 
for  his  mother,  and  think  of  her  only  as  dead ;  and 
he  remembered  well  the  chill  of  cold  despair  with 
which  he  had  realized  that  that  fair,  sweet  woman, 
who  had  called  him  her  little  son,  and  who  had  ac- 
cepted his  devoted  boyish  affection  with  a  sort  of 
amused  pleasure,  was  gone  from  him  for  ever. 
Henceforth  life  would  indeed  be  a  dreary  thing, 
alone  with  that  cold,  silent  student,  with  whom  he 
was  almost  afraid  to  speak,  and  whom  he  scarcely 
ever  addressed  by  the  name  of  father. 

196 


THE  NEW  TENANT  197 

A  dreary  time  it  had  indeed  been.  His  memory 
glanced  lightly  over  the  long  monotonous  years 
with  a  sort  of  shuddering  recoil.  He  thought  of 
his  father's  frequent  absences,  and  of  his  return 
from  one  of  them  in  the  middle  of  a  winter's  night, 
propped  up  in  an  invalid  carriage,  with  a  surgeon 
in  attendance,  and  blood-stained  bandages  around 
his  leg.  And  he  thought  of  a  night  when  he  had 
sat  up  with  him  while  the  nurse  rested,  and  one 
name  had  ceaselessly  burst  from  those  white  fever- 
ish lips,  laden  with  fierce  curses  and  deep  vindictive 
hate,  a  name  which  had  since  been  written  into  his 
memory  with  letters  of  fire.  Further  and  further 
on  his  memory  dragged  him,  until  he  himself,  a  boy 
no  longer,  had  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  man- 
hood, and  on  one  awful  night  had  heard  from  his 
father's  lips  that  story  which  had  cast  its  shadow 
across  his  life.  Then  for  the  first  time  had  sprung 
up  of  some  sort  of  sympathy  between  them,  sympa- 
thy which  had  for  its  foundation  a  common  hatred, 
a  common  sense  of  deep,  unpardonable  wrong.  The 
oath  which  his  father  had  sworn  with  trembling 
lips  the  son  had  echoed,  and  in  dread  of  the  ven- 
geance of  these  two,  the  man  against  whom  they 
had  sworn  it  cut  himself  off  from  his  fellows,  and 
skulked  in  every  out-of-the-way  corner  of  Europe, 
a  hunted  being  in  peril  of  his  life.  There  had  come 
a  great  change  over  their  lives,  and  they  had  drifted 
farther  apart  again.  He  himself  had  gone  out  into 
the  world  something  of  a  scholar  and  something  of 
a  pedant,  and  he  had  found  that  all  his  ideas  of  life 
had  lain  rusting  in  his  country  home,  and  that  he 
had  almost  as  much  to  unlearn  as  to  learn.  With 
ample  means,  and  an  eager  thirst  for  knowledge, 
he  had  passed  from  one  to  another  of  the  great  seats 
of  learning  of  the  world.  But  his  lesson  was  not 


io8  THE  NEW  TENANT 

taught  him  at  one  of  them.  He  learned  it  not 
amongst  the  keen  conflict  of  intellect  at  the  univer- 
sities, not  in  the  toils  of  the  great  vague  disquiet 
which  was  throbbing  amongst  all  cultured  and 
artistic  society,  but  in  the  eternal  silence  of  Mont 
Blanc  and  her  snow-capped  Alps,  and  the  whisper- 
ings of  the  night  winds  which  blew  across  the  val- 
leys. At  Heidelberg  he  had  been  a  philosopher,  in 
Italy  he  had  been  a  scholar,  and  in  Switzerland  he 
became  a  poet.  When  once  again  he  returned  to  the 
more  feverish  life  of  cities  he  was  a  changed  man. 
He  looked  out  upon  life  now  with  different  eyes 
and  enlarged  vision.  Passion  had  given  place  to  a 
certain  studied  calm,  a  sort  of  inward  contempla- 
tiveness  which  is  ever  inseparable  from  the  true  ar- 
tist. Life  became  for  him  almost  too  impersonal, 
too  little  human.  Soon  it  threatened  to  become  one 
long  abstraction,  accompanied  necessarily  with  a 
weakened  hold  on  all  sensuous  things,  and  a  corre- 
sponding decline  in  taste  and  appreciation.  One 
thing  had  saved  him  from  relapsing  into  the  ner- 
vous dreamer,  and  the  weaver  of  bright  but  aimless 
fancies.  He  had  loved,  and  he  had  become  a  man 
again,  linked  to  the  world  and  the  things  of  the 
world  by  the  pulsations  of  his  passion  and  his 
strong  deep  love.  Was  it  well  for  him  or  ill,  he 
wondered.  Well,  it  might  have  been  save  for  the 
deadly  peril  in  which  he  lived,  and  which  seemed 
closing  fast  around  him.  Well,  it  surely  would 
have  been,  .  .  . 

Lower  and  lower  the  sun  had  sunk,  till  now  its 
rim  touched  the  horizon.  The  evening  breeze  steal- 
ing down  from  the  hills  had  gathered  strength  until 
now  it  was  almost  cold.  The  distant  sound  of  foot- 
steps, and  the  gay  laughing  voices  of  the  prome- 
naders  from  the  awakening  town  broke  the  deep 


THE   NEW  TENANT  199 

stillness  which  had  hung1  over  the  garden  and  re- 
called Bernard  Maddison  from  thoughtland.  He 
rose  to  his  feet,  a  little  stiff,  and  walked  slowly 
along  the  path  towards  the  villa.  At  that  same 
moment,  Mr.  Benjamin  Levy,  tired  and  angry  with 
his  long  waiting,  stole  into  the  garden  by  the  pos- 
tern-gate. 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

BENJAMIN  LEVY  WRITES  HOME 

"  June  ioth. 

"  MY  DEAR  DAD  : — 

"  I  wired  you  yesterday  afternoon,  immediately 
on  our  arrival  at  this  outlandish  little  place,  to 
write  to  me  at  the  hotel  Leon  d'Or,  for  it  seems 
that  we  have  reached  our  destination — by  we,  of 
course,  I  mean  Mr.  Maddison  and  myself,  though 
he  has  not  the  least  idea  of  my  presence  here.  Well, 
this  is  a  queer  old  crib,  I  can  tell  you,  and  the 
sooner  we  are  on  the  move  again  the  better  I  shall 
be  pleased.  The  fodder  is  odious,  not  fit  for  a  pig, 
and  the  wine  is  ditto.  What  wouldn't  I  give  for 
a  pint  of  Bass  like  they  draw  at  the  Blue  Boar? 
Old  England  for  me  is  my  motto ! 

"  And  now  to  biz !  So  far  all's  well.  I'm  on  the 
right  tack  and  no  mistake.  We  got  here  middle 
day,  yesterday — came  over  the  hills  from  the  rail- 
way in  a  regular  old  bone-shaker  of  a  coach.  My 
tourist  get-up  is  quite  the  fig,  and  though  I  caught 

Mr.  M eyeing  me  over  a  bit  supercilious  like 

once,  he  didn't  recognize  me  if  ever  he  did  see  me 
down  at  Thurwell  Court,  which  I  don't  think  he 
did.  Well,  directly  we  got  here,  off  started  Mr. 
M through  the  town,  and  after  a  bit  I  fol- 
lowed. Lord!  it  was  hot  and  no  mistake,  but  he 
didn't  seem  to  notice  it,  though  the  perspiration 
was  streaming  down  my  back  like  anything.  About 


THE  NEW  TENANT  201 

a  mile  out  of  town  we  came  to  a  great  high  wall 
with  a  door  in  it,  and  before  I  could  say  '  Jack  Rob- 
inson '  or  get  anywhere  near  him,  in  he  went. 
Well,  I  hung  round  a  bit,  and  soon  I  found  a  sort 
of  opening  in  the  wall  where  I  could  just  see  in, 
and  there  he  was  sitting  down  on  a  seat  in  a  regular 
howling  wilderness  of  a  garden,  as  though  the 
whole  place  belonged  to  him,  if  you  please.  All 
right !  I  thought,  I'm  agreeable  to  a  rest,  and  I  sat 
down  too,  little  thinking  what  was  in  store  for  me. 
Four  mortal  hours  passed  before  he  stirred,  and 
jolly  stiff  and  tired  I  was,  I  can  tell  you.  But  it 
was  a  lucky  thing  for  me  all  the  same,  for  when  he 
got  up  and  made  for  the  house  it  was  almost  dark, 
so  without  more  ado  I  just  opened  the  door  and 
walked  in  myself.  There  was  no  end  of  shrubs  and 
trees  about  the  place,  and  though  I  followed  him  on 
another  path  only  a  few  yards  away,  he  couldn't  see 
me,  and  there  was  no  chance  of  his  hearing,  for  the 
moss  had  grown  over  the  gravel  like  a  blooming 
carpet,  which  was  all  lucky  for  me  again. 

"  Well,  we  were  just  close  to  the  house,  when  we 
both  of  us  got  a  start,  and  I  nearly  yelled  out. 
Round  the  corner  of  his  path,  thank  goodness! 
came  a  tall,  white-haired  old  lady,  in  a  long  black 
dress,  with  an  ivory  cross  hanging  down,  and  look- 
ing as  dignified  as  possible.  She  no  sooner  saw 
him  than  she  stopped  and  cried .  out,  '  Bernard ! 
Bernard ! '  and  seemed  as  though  she  were  going  to 
faint.  She  pulled  herself  together,  however,  and 
things  became  very  interesting  for  me,  I  can  tell 
you. 

"  Mr.  M he  was  going  to  take  her  hands  and 

kiss  her,  but  she  drew  them  away  and  stood  back. 
Lord!  how  awful  her  face  did  look!  It  gave  me  a 
regular  turn  just  to  look  at  her. 


202  THE   NEW  TENANT 

"  '  Bernard ! '  she  cried  out  in  a  low,  shaking 
voice,  '  I  know  all — all ! ' 

"  '  What  do  you  mean,  mother  ?  '  he  asked. 

"Then  she  stretched  her  arms  up,  and  it  was 
dreadful  to  look  at  her. 

"  '  I  had  a  dream ! '  she  cried,  '  a  dream  which 
kept  me  shuddering  and  sleepless  from  midnight  to 
daybreak.  I  dreamed  I  saw  him— dead— cold  and 
dead!' 

"  He  said  nothing,  but  he  seemed  fearfully  upset. 
I  kept  crouched  down  behind  a  shrub  and  listened. 

"  '  In  the  morning  I  sent  for  a  file  of  English 
newspapers/  she  went  on.  '  One  by  one  I  searched 
them  through  till  I  came  to  August  last  year. 
There  I  found  it.  Bernard,  it  was  at  Thurwell 
Court.  I  had  a  letter  in  my  pocket  from  you  with 
the  postmark  Thurwell.  Don't  come  near  me,  but 
speak !  Is  there  blood  upon  your  hands  ?  ' 

"  And  now,  dad,  the  most  provoking  things  hap- 
pened. It  seemed  just  as  though  it  were  done  to 
spite  me.  He  had  his  mouth  open  to  answer,  and  I 
had  my  ears  open,  as  you  may  guess,  to  listen,  and 
see  what  happens,  and  tell  me  if  it  wasn't  a  rare 
sell !  Off  the  old  woman  goes  into  a  faint  all  of  a 
sudden.  He  catches  hold  of  her  and  sings  out  for 
help.  Down  I  ran  to  the  door  as  hard  as  I  could, 
slammed  it  as  though  I  had  just  come  in,  and  came 
running  up  the  path.  '  Anything  the  matter  ?  '  I 
called  out,  as  though  I  didn't  know  my  way.  '  A 
lady  fainted,'  he  shouts ;  '  come  and  help  me  carry 
her  into  the  house ; '  so  up  I  went,  and  together  we 
carried  her  inside  and  laid  her  on  a  couch  in  one  of 
the  queerest-furnished  rooms  I  ever  saw.  There 
was  servants  with  lighted  lamps  running  about, 
and  another  woman  who  seemed  to  be  a  relation, 
and  such  a  fuss  they  all  made,  and  no  mistake. 


THE  NEW  TENANT  203 

However,  Mr.  M cooled  them  all  down  again 

pretty  soon,  for  he  could  see  that  it  was  only  an 
ordinary  faint,  and  then  he  began  to  look  at  me 
curiously.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  stay  until  the 
old  woman  came  round,  but  he  was  too  many  for 
me,  for  he  got  up  and  took  me  to  the  door  himself. 
Of  course,  he  was  awfully  polite  and  all  that,  and 
was  very  much  obliged  for  my  help,  but  I  twigged 
it  in  a  moment.  He  wanted  me  gone,  so  off  I  ske- 
daddled. 

"  Well,  back  I  went  to  the  inn,  and  began  to 
make  a  few  cautious  inquiries  about  the  lady  of  the 
Villa  Fiorlessa,  for  that  was  the  name  of  the  house 

where  I  had  left  Mr.  M .  I  could  not  get  on  at 

all  at  first,  not  understanding  a  word  of  the  blessed 
lingo,  but  by  good  luck  I  tumbled  across  an  artist 
chap  who  turned  out  a  good  sort,  and  offered  to  in- 
terpret for  me.  So  we  had  the  landlord  in,  and  I 
ordered  a  bottle  of  his  best  wine — nasty  greasy 
stuff  it  was — and  we  went  at  it  hammer  and 
tongs.  Pretty  soon  I  had  found  out  everything  I 
wanted  to. 

"  Nearly  twenty  years  ago  the  lady — Mrs.  Marti- 
val  she  was  called — had  come  to  the  Villa  Fiorlessa 
with  her  husband  and  one  little  boy.  They  were, 
it  seems,  one  of  the  worst-matched  couples  that 
could  be  imagined.  Mr.  Martival  was  a  gloomy, 
severe  man,  who  hated  going  out,  and  worked  at 
some  sort  of  writing  day  and  night.  His  wife,  on 
the  other  hand,  who  was  a  Frenchwoman,  was 
passionately  fond  of  travel,  and  change,  and  gaiety. 
Her  life  was  consequently  very  like  a  prison,  and 
it  is  stated,  too,  that  besides  denying  her  every 
whim  and  forcing  her  to  live  in  a  manner  she  ut- 
terly disliked,  her  husband  ill-treated  her  shame- 
fully. Well,  she  made  a  few  friends  here  and  went 


204  THE  NEW  TENANT 

to  see  them  pretty  often,  and  just  at  that  time  an 
English  milord — you  can  guess  who  he  was — came 
here  to  see  the  statue,  and  met  Mrs.  Martival,  whom 
he  seems  to  have  known  before  her  marriage.  The 
exact  particulars  are  not  known,  but  it  is  supposed 
that  Mrs.  Martival  would  have  been  married  to  this 
young  Englishman,  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,  but  for 
some  deep  scheming  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Martival. 
Anyhow,  there  was  a  desperate  quarrel  between  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Martival,  when  she  charged  him  with 
duplicity  before  this  marriage,  and  he  forbade  her 
to  meet  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  again.  Quite  prop- 
erly she  refused  to  obey  him,  and  they  met  often, 
although  every  one  seems  quite  sure  that  at  that 
time  they  met  only  as  friends.  Mr.  Martival,  how- 
ever, appears  to  have  thought  otherwise,  for  one 
night,  after  what  they  call  their  carnival  dance 
here,  which  every  one  in  the  neighborhood  had 
attended,  Mr.  Martival  had  the  brutality  to  close 
his  doors  against  her,  and  refuse  to  let  her  enter 
the  house.  It  was  the  crowning  piece  of  barbarism 
to  a  long  course  of  jealous  cruelties.  Mrs.  Martival 
spent  that  night  with  some  friends,  and  seems  even 
then  to  have  hesitated  for  a  long  time.  Her  mar- 
ried life  had  been  one  long  disappointment,  and 
this  brutal  action  of  her  husband  had  ended  it. 
Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  was  madly  in  love  with 
her,  and  she  was  one  of  those  wromen  who 
must  be  loved.  In  the  end  she  ran  away  with 
him,  which  seemed  a  very  natural  thing  for  her 
to  do. 

"  The  queerest  part  of  it  is  to  come,  though.  Sir 
Geoffrey  was  devoted  to  her,  and  would  have  mar- 
ried her  at  once  if  Mr.  Martival  would  have  sued 
for  a  divorce.  He  showed  her  every  kindness,  and 
he  lavished  his  money  and  his  love  upon  her.  But 


THE  NEW  TENANT  205 

it  seems  that  she  was  a  devout  Roman  Catholic, 
and  the  horror  of  what  she  had  done  preyed  upon 
her  so,  that  in  less  than  a  month  she  left  Sir  Geof- 
frey, and  entered  one  of  the  lower  sort  of  nun- 
neries as  a  menial.  From  there  she  went  to  the 
wars  as  a  nurse,  and  did  a  great  deal  of  good. 
When  she  returned,  of  all  places  in  the  world  she 
came  back  to  the  Villa  Fiorlessa,  partly  from  a  curi- 
ous notion  of  penance,  that  she  might  be  continu- 
ally reminded  of  her  sin.  The  queerest  part  of  it 
is,  however,  that  the  people  round  here  behaved  like 
real  Christians,  and  jolly  different  to  what  they 
would  have  done  at  home.  They  knew  all  her  his- 
tory, and  they  welcomed  her  back  as  though  that 
month  in  her  life  had  never  been.  That's  what  I 
call  charity,  real  charity,  dad!  Don't  know  what 
you  think  about  it.  Well,  there  she's  lived  ever 
since  with  her  sister,  who  had  lots  of  money  (she 
died  last  year),  and  the  poor  people  all  around  just 
worshipped  them. 

"  Now,  to  go  back  a  bit.  Mr.  Martival,  although 
he  had  been  such  a  brute  to  his  wife,  no  sooner 
found  out  that  she  was  with  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston 
than  he  swore  the  most  horrible  oaths  of  vengeance, 
and  went  off  after  them.  He  was  brought  back  in 
a  fever,  with  a  pistol  shot  in  his  leg,  which  served 
him  d— — d  well  right,  I  think.  No  sooner  was  he 
better  than  he  started  off  again  in  pursuit,  but  Sir 
Geoffrey  dodged  him,  and  they  never  met.  Mean- 
while the  young  cub,  whom  you  will  recognize  as 

Mr.   M ,   had  grown  up,  and  what  must  his 

father  do  when  he  returned  but  tell  him  as  much 
of  the  story  as  suited  him,  with  the  result  that  he 
too  swore  an  oath  of  vengeance  against  Sir  Geof- 
frey Kynaston.  Time  goes  on,  and  Mr.  Martival 
and  his  son  both  leave  here.  Mr.  Martival  is  re- 


206  THE   NEW  TENANT 

ported  to  have  died  in  Paris,  his  son  goes  to  Eng- 
land, and  is  lost  sight  of.  We  can,  however,  follow 
the  story  a  little  further.  We  can  follow  it  down 
to  its  last  scene,  and  discover  in  the  Mr.  Brown  who 
had  taken  a  small  cottage  near  Sir  Geoffrey's  seat, 
within  a  week  of  his  return  home,  and  whom  soon 
afterwards  we  discover  bending  over  Sir  Geoffrey's 
murdered  body,  the  boy  who,  fired  with  what  his 
father  had  thundered  into  his  ears  as  his  mother's 
ruin,  had  sworn  that  oath  of  vengeance  against  Sir 
Geoffrey. 

"  All  this  looks  very  simple,  doesn't  it  ?  and  I 
dare  say,  my  dear  dad,  you're  wondering  why  I 
don't  come  straight  away  home,  and  cause  a  sensa- 
tion at  Scotland  Yard  by  clearing  up  the  Kynaston 
murder.  Simply  because  that  isn't  quite  my  game. 
I  didn't  come  over  here  to  collect  evidence  against 

Mr.   M ,  for  I  could  have  laid  my  hand  on 

plenty  of  that  at  home.  There  is  something  else  at 
the  back  of  it  all,  which  I  can  only  see  very  dimly 
yet,  but  which  will  come  as  a  crasher,  I  can  tell  you, 
when  it  does  come.  At  present  I  won't  say  any- 
thing about  this,  only  keep  your  eyes  open  and  be 
prepared.  Ta-ta ! 

"  Your  obedient  son, 

"  BEN. 

"P.S.  Don't  worry  about  Xs.  They  won't 
come  out  of  your  pocket  in  the  long  run,  I  can  tell 
you. 

"  P.S.  2.  Wednesday  evening.  Here's  a  pretty 
pickle !  You  remember  the  artist  I  told  you  about. 

I'm  d d  if  he  isn't  a  regular  from  S.Y.,  and 

he's  got  his  pocket-book  pretty  full,  too.  The  game 
is  serious  now  and  no  mistake.  Mind  you,  I  think 


THE   NEW  TENANT  207 

we  stand  to  win  still,  but  I  can't  be  quite  sure  while 
this  chap's  on  the  lay.  Look  out  for  telegrams,  and 
don't  be  surprised  if  I  turn  up  at  any  moment.  It 

may  come  to  a  race  between  us.    D n,  I  wonder 

how  he  got  on  the  scent !  " 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

A   STRANGE   TRIO   OF   PASSENGERS 

BEFORE  the  open  window  of  her  room,  looking 
out  upon  the  fair  wilderness  below,  and  over  its 
high  stone  walls  to  the  dim  distant  line  of  hills  van- 
ishing in  an  ethereal  mist,  lay  Mrs.  Martival,  and 
by  her  side  stood  Bernard  Maddison,  looking  down 
into  her  white  suffering  face. 

Sorrow  and  time  together  had  made  strange 
havoc  with  its  beauty,  and  yet  the  lines  had  been 
laid  on  with  no  harsh  hand.  There  was  a  certain 
dignity  which  it  had  never  lost,  which  indeed  re- 
signed and  large-minded  sadness  only  enhances, 
and  her  simple  religious  life  had  given  a  touch  of 
spirituality  to  those  thin,  delicate  features  so  ex- 
quisitely carved  and  moulded.  The  bloom  had  gone 
from  her  cheeks  for  ever,  and  their  intense  pallor 
was  almost  deathlike,  matching  very  nearly  her 
snow-white  hair,  but  her  eyes  seemed  to  have  re- 
tained much  of  their  old  power  and  sweetness,  and 
the  light  which  sometimes  flashed  in  them  lent  her 
face  a  peculiar  charm.  But  now  they  were  full  of 
a  deep  anxiety  as  she  lay  there,  a  restless  disquiet 
which  showed  itself  also  in  her  nervously  twitching 
fingers. 

Far  away  down  the  valley  the  little  convent  clock 
struck  the  hour,  and  at  its  sound  she  looked  up 
at  him. 

"  You  go  at  nine  o'clock,  Bernard  ?  " 
208 


THE   NEW  TENANT  209 

"  At  nine  o'clock,  mother,  unless  you  wish  me  to 
stay." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  I  shall  be  better  alone.  This  thing  will 
crush  me  into  the  grave,  but  death  will  be  very  wel- 
come. Oh,  my  son,  my  son,  that  the  sin  of  one 
weak  woman  should  have  given  birth  to  all  this 
misery!" 

He  stooped  over  her,  and  held  her  thin  fingers  in 
his  strong  man's  hand. 

"  Do  not  trouble  about  it,  mother,"  he  said.  "I 
can  bear  my  share.  Try  and  forget  it." 

Her  eyes  flashed  strangely,  and  her  lips  parted  in 
a  smile  which  was  no  smile. 

"  Forget  it !  That  is  a  strange  speech,  Bernard. 
Have  I  the  power  to  beckon  to  those  hills  yonder, 
and  bid  them  bow  their  everlasting  heads?  Can  I 
put  back  the  hand  of  time,  and  live  my  life  over 
again?  Even  so  futile  is  my  power  over  memory. 
It  is  my  penance,  and  I  pray  day  and  night  for 
strength  to  bear  it." 

Her  voice  died  away  with  a  little  break,  and  there 
was  silence.  Soon  she  spoke  again. 

"Tell  me — something  about  her,  Bernard." 

His  face  changed,  but  it  was  only  a  passing  glow, 
almost  as  though  one  of  those  long  level  rays  of 
sunlight  had  glanced  for  a  moment  across  his 
features. 

"  She  is  good  and  beautiful,  and  all  that  a  woman 
should  be,"  he  whispered. 

"  Does  she  know  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  She  trusts  me." 

"  Then  you  will  be  happy  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 
"  Happy  even  if  the  worst  come !  Time  will  wipe 
out  the  memory." 


210  THE   NEW   TENANT 

He  turned  away  with  a  dull  sickening  pain  at  his 
heart.  The  worst  he  had  not  told  her.  How  could 
he?  How  could  he  add  another  to  her  sorrows  by 
telling  her  of  the  peril  in  which  he  stood?  How 
could  he  tell  her  what  he  suspected  to  be  true — 
that  in  that  quiet  little  Italian  town  English  detect- 
ives were  watching  his  every  movement,  and  that 
at  any  moment  he  might  be  arrested?  With  her 
joyless  life,  and  with  this  new  misery  closing  around 
her,  would  it  not  be  well  for  her  to  die  ? 

"  It  is  farewell  between  us  now,  Bernard,  then  ?  " 
she  said  softly.  "  God  grant  that  you  may  be  going 
back  to  a  new  and  happier  life.  May  I,  who  have 
failed  so  utterly,  give  you  just  one  word  of 
advice?  " 

He  bowed  his  head,  for  just  then  he  could  not 
have  spoken.  She  raised  herself  a  little  upon  her 
couch,  and  felt  for  his  hand. 

"  Bernard,  you  are  not  as  your  father  was,"  she 
said ;  "  yet  you,  too,  have  something  of  the  student 
in  you.  Don't  think  that  I  am  going  to  say  any- 
thing against  learning  and  culture.  It  is  a  grand 
thing  for  a  man  to  devote  himself  to;  but,  like 
everything  else,  in  excess  it  has  its  dangers.  Some- 
times it  makes  a  man  gloomy  and  reserved,  and 
averse  to  all  change  and  society,  and  intolerant 
toward  others.  Bernard,  it  is  bad  for  his  wife  then. 
A  woman  sets  so  much  store  by  little  things — her 
happiness  is  bound  up  in  them.  She  is  very,  very 
human,  and  she  wants  to  be  loved,  and  considered, 
and  feel  herself  a  great  part  in  her  husband's  life 
and  thoughts.  And  if  it  is  all  denied  to  her,  what 
is  she  to  do?  Of  necessity  she  must  be  miserable. 
A  man  should  never  let  his  wife  feel  that  she  is 
shut  out  from  any  one  of  his  great  interests.  He 
should  never  let  those  little  mutual  ties  which  once 


THE  NEW  TENANT  211 

held  them  together  grow  weak,  and  fancy  because 
he  is  living  amongst  the  ghosts  of  great  thoughts 
that  little  human  responsibilities  have  no  claim  upon 
him.  Bernard,  you  will  remember  all  this !  " 

"  Every  word,  mother/'  he  answered.  "  Helen 
would  thank  you  if  she  had  been  here." 

A  horn  sounded  from  outside,  and  he  drew  out 
his  watch  hastily. 

"  The  diligence,  mother !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  I 
must  go." 

He  took  her  frail  form  up  into  his  arms,  and 
kissed  her. 

"  If  all  goes  well,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  will 
bring  her  to  you." 

"  If  she  will  come,  I  shall  die  happy,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  But  not  against  her  will  or  without 
knowing  all.  Farewell !  " 

That  night  three  men  were  racing  home  to  Eng- 
land as  fast  as  express  train  and  steamer  could  bear 
them.  One  was  Bernard  Maddison,  another  Mr. 
Benjamin  Levy,  and  the  third  his  artist  friend. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

VISITORS   FOR   MR.    BERNARD   MADDISON 

IN  an  ordinary  case,  with  three  men  starting 
from  a  given  point  in  North  Italy  at  the  same  time, 
the  odds  seem  in  favor  of  their  all  reaching  their 
destination  at  the  same  time.  As  it  happened,  how- 
ever, there  was  another  factor  to  be  considered, 
which  had  its  due  result.  Bernard  Maddison  was 
rather  more  at  home  on  Continental  railroads  than 
he  was  on  English  ones,  whereas  neither  of  the 
other  two  had  ever  before  left  their  own  country 
save  under  the  wing  of  "  Cook."  The  consequence 
was  that  by  the  aid  of  sundry  little  manoeuvres, 
which  completely  puzzled  his  would-be  companions, 
Bernard  Maddison  stood  on  the  platform  of  Water- 
loo while  they  were  still  in  the  throes  of  seasick- 
ness. As  a  further  consequence  two  telegrams  were 
dispatched  from  Ostend,  and  were  duly  delivered  in 
England.  The  first  was  from  Benjamin  Levy  to 
his  father. 

"  Meet  all  boat  trains  at  Waterloo,  and  try  to  rec- 
ognize B.  M.  King  will  do  to  shadow.  Ascertain 
Miss  Thurwell's  address.  Home  early  to-morrow." 

The  second  was  from  his  acquaintance,  the  artist, 
to  Scotland  Yard. 

"  Bernard  Maddison  ahead  of  us.  Meet  all 
trains.  Tall,  dark,  thin,  pale,  brown  check  traveling 


THE  NEW  TENANT  213 

ulster.    Photograph  for  sale  in  Regent  Street  if  can 
get  to  shop." 

Both  telegrams  were  conscientiously  attended  to, 
and  when  Bernard  Maddison  drove  out  of  the  sta- 
tion his  hansom  was  followed  by  two  others.  There 
was  nothing  very  suspicious  about  his  movements. 
First  of  all  he  was  set  down  at  his  club,  which 
meant  a  wait  of  an  hour  and  a  half  for  his  watchers. 
At  the  end  of  that  time  he  reappeared  with  all  the 
traces  of  his  journey  effaced,  and  in  a  fresh  suit  of 
clothes,  carrying  now  a  smaller  portmanteau.  He 
lit  a  cigarette,  and  sent  for  a  hansom.  This  time  he 
was  set  down  at  King's  Cross,  and  took  a  ticket  for 
a  small  town  on  the  Yorkshire  coast.  Hereupon 
the  employee  of  Messrs.  Levy  &  Son  retired,  having 
ascertained  all  that  he  was  required  to  ascertain. 
The  other  myrmidon,  however,  having  dispatched 
his  subordinate  to  headquarters  with  particulars  of 
his  destination,  took  up  the  chase. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  they  reached 
their  journey's  end,  but  Bernard  Maddison  was 
quite  unconscious  of  any  fatigue,  and  marching 
straight  out  of  the  station,  turned  toward  Mallory. 
The  man  who  was  following  him,  however,  hired  a 
carriage,  and  drove  down  to  the  hotel.  He  knew 
quite  well  where  the  other  was  going  to,  and  as 
nothing  could  be  done  that  night,  he  determined  to 
enjoy  as  much  as  he  could  of  his  seaside  trip,  and, 
after  making  up  for  his  day's  fasting  by  a  satisfac- 
tory tea,  he  spent  the  evening  on  the  jetty  listening 
to  the  town  brass  band. 

That  was  a  strange  walk  for  Bernard  Maddison. 
Two  sensations  were  struggling  within  him  for  the 
mastery,  fear  and  despair  at  the  terrible  crisis  which 


214  THE  NEW  TENANT 

seemed  to  yawn  before  his  feet,  and  that  sweet  rev- 
olution of  feeling,  that  intense,  yearning  love,  which 
had  suddenly  thrown  a  golden  halo  over  his  cold 
barren  life.  But  as  he  left  the  road  and  took  the 
moorland  path  along  the  cliff,  the  battle  suddenly 
came  to  an  end.  Before  him  stretched  the  open 
moor,  brilliant  with  coloring,  with  dark  flushes  of 
purple,  and  bright  streaks  of  yellow  gorse,  and  the 
sunlight  glancing  upon  the  hills.  There  was  the 
pleasant  murmuring  of  the  sea  in  his  ears,  a  glis- 
tening, dancing,  silver  sea,  the  blue  sky  above,  and 
the  fresh  strong  breeze  full  of  vigorous,  bracing  life. 
Something  of  a  glad  recklessness  stole  over  him  and 
lightened  his  heart.  This  was  no  scene,  no  hour 
for  sad  thoughts.  Where  was  the  philosophy  of 
nursing  such,  of  giving  them  a  home  even  for  a 
moment?  Joy  and  sorrow,  what  were  they  but 
abstract  states  of  the  mind  ?  Let  him  wait  until  the 
ashes  were  between  his  teeth.  The  future  and  the 
past  no  man  could  command,  but  the  present  was 
his  own.  He  would  claim  it.  He  would  drink  deep 
of  the  joy  which  lay  before  him. 

And  as  he  walked  on  over  the  soft  springy  turf, 
with  the  tall  chimneys  of  Thurwell  Court  in  the  val- 
ley before  him,  life  leaped  madly  through  his  veins, 
and  a  deep  joy  held  memory  in  a  torpor,  and  filled 
his  heart  with  gladness.  The  whole  passionate  side 
of  his  nature  had  been  suddenly  quickened  into  life 
by  his  surroundings,  and  by  the  thought  that  down 
yonder  the  woman  whom  he  loved  was  waiting  for 
him.  Once  again,  come  what  may,  he  would  hold 
her  in  his  arms  and  hear  her  voice  tremble  with  joy 
at  his  return.  Once  more  he  would  hold  her  face 
up  to  his,  and  look  into  her  dim,  soft  eyes,  full  of 
that  glowing  lovelight  which  none  can  fail  to  read. 
Once  again  he  would  drink  deep  of  this  delicious 


THE  NEW  TENANT  215 

happiness,  a  long  sweet  draught,  and  if  life  ended 
after  that  moment  he  would  at  least  have  touched 
the  limits  of  all  earthly  joys. 

And  suddenly  he  stood  face  to  face  with  her.  He 
had  passed  Falcon's  Nest,  dismantled  and  desolate, 
with  scarcely  a  careless  glance,  and  had  entered  the 
long  pine  grove  which  fringed  the  cliff  side.  Al- 
ready he  was  close  to  the  spot  where  they  had  stood 
once  before,  and  with  all  the  subtle  sweetness  of 
those  memories  stealing  in  upon  him  he  had  turned 
aside  to  look  through  the  tree  tops  down  into  the 
sea,  as  they  had  done  together.  Thus  he  was  stand- 
ing when  he  heard  light  firm  footsteps  close  at  hand, 
and  a  little  surprised  cry  which  rang  in  his  ears  like 
music,  for  it  was  her  voice. 

They  stood  face  to  face,  their  hands  clasped.  In 
that  first  moment  of  tremulous  joy  neither  of  them 
spoke.  Each  was  struggling  for  realization,  for 
even  an  inward  expression  of  the  ecstasy  of  this 
meeting.  For  them  there  was  a  new  glory  in  the 
sunny  heavens,  a  new  beauty  in  the  glistening  sea 
and  the  softly  waving  pine  trees,  even  in  the  air 
they  breathed.  The  intensity  of  this  joy  filled  their 
hearts,  their  fancy,  their  imagination.  Everything 
was  crowned  with  a  soft  golden  light;  new  springs 
of  feeling  leaped  up  within  them,  bringing  glowing 
revelations  of  such  delight  as  mocked  expression. 
For  them  only  at  that  moment  the  sun  shone,  and 
the  summer  winds  whispered  in  the  trees,  and  the 
birds  sang.  The  world  was  theirs,  or  rather  a  new 
one  of  their  own  creation.  The  past  and  the  future 
emptied  their  joys  into  the  overflowing  bowl  of  the 
present.  Life  stood  still  for  them.  There  was  no 
horizon,  no  background.  Oh,  it  is  a  great  thing, 
the  greatest  thing  upon  this  earth,  to  love  and  be 
loved ! 


2i6  THE   NEW  TENANT 

Each  dreaded  speech.  It  seemed  as  though  a 
single  word  must  drag  them  down  from  a  new 
heaven  to  an  old  earth.  Yet  those  murmured  pas- 
sionate words  of  his,  as  he  drew  her  softly  into  his 
arms,  and  her  head  sank  upon  his  shoulder — they 
were  scarcely  words.  And  then  again  there  was 
silence. 

It  lasted  long.  It  seemed  to  him  that  it  might 
have  lasted  forever.  But  the  sun  went  down  behind 
the  hills,  and  a  dusky  twilight  stole  down  upon  the 
earth.  Then  she  spoke. 

"  My  love,  my  love !  you  must  listen  to  me.  I 
have  a  confession  to  make." 

"  A  confession  ?    You !  "  he  echoed. 

Her  cheeks  burned  with  a  fire  which  seemed  to 
her  like  the  fire  of  shame.  Her  tongue  seemed 
hung  with  sudden  weights.  She  had  doubted  him. 
The  hideousness  of  it  oppressed  her  like  a  night- 
mare; yet  her  voice  did  not  falter. 

"  You  remember  those  dying  words  of  Rachel 
Kynaston  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  forgotten  them,"  he  answered 
simply. 

"  They  laid  a  charge  upon  me.  I  told  myself 
that  it  was  a  sacred  charge.  Listen,  my  love — 
listen,  and  hate  me!  I  have  been  to  detectives.  I 
paid  them  money  to  hunt  you  down;  I  have  done 
this,  I  who  love  you.  No,  don't  draw  your  arms 
away.  I  have  done  this.  It  was  before  I 
knew.  Oh,  I  have  suffered!  God!  how  I  have 
suffered!  It  has  been  an  agony  to  me.  You  will 
forgive  rne!  I  will  not  let  you  go  unless  you  for- 
give me." 

He  looked  down  at  her  in  silence.  His  cheeks 
were  pale  and  his  eyes  were  grave.  Yet  there  was 
no  anger. 


THE  NEW  TENANT  217 

"  I  will  forgive  you,  Helen,"  he  whispered — 
"  nay,  there  is  nothing  to  forgive.  Only  tell  me 
this :  you  do  not  doubt  me  now  ?  " 

"  Never  again !  "  she  cried  passionately.  "  God 
forgive  me  that  I  have  ever  doubted  you!  It  is 
like  a  horrible  dream  to  me;  but  it  lies  far  behind, 
and  the  morning  has  come." 

He  kissed  her  once  more  and  opened  his  arms. 
With  a  low  happy  laugh  she  shook  her  tumbled 
hair  straight,  and  hand  in  hand  they  walked  slowly 
away. 

"  You  have  been  long  gone,"  she  whispered  re- 
proachfully. 

He  sighed  as  he  answered  her.  How  long  might 
not  his  next  absence  be! 

"  It  has  seemed  as  long  to  me  as  to  you,  sweet- 
heart," he  said.  "  Every  moment  away  from  you 
I  have  counted  as  a  lost  moment  in  my  life." 

"  That  is  very  pretty,"  she  answered.  "  And 
now  you  are  here,  are  you  going  to  stay  ?  " 

"Until  the  end,"  he  said  solemnly.  "You 
know,  Helen,  that  I  am  in  deadly  peril.  The  means 
of  averting  it  which  I  went  abroad  to  seek,  I  could 
not  use." 

She  thought  of  those  letters,  bought  and  safely 
burnt,  and  she  pressed  his  fingers.  She  would  tell 
him  of  them  presently. 

"  They  shall  not  take  you  from  me,  Bernard, 
now,"  she  said  softly.  "  Kiss  me  again,  dear." 

He  stooped  and  took  her  happy  upturned  face 
with  its  crown  of  wavy  golden  hair  between  his 
hands,  looking  fondly  down  at  her.  The  thought 
of  all  that  he  might  so  soon  lose  swept  in  upon  him 
with  a  sickening  agony,  and  he  turned  away  with 
trembling  lips  and  dim  eyes. 

"  God  grant  that  they  may  not ! "  he  cried  pas- 


218  THE  NEW  TENANT 

sionately.  "  If  it  were  to  come  now,  how  could  I 
bear  it  to  the  end  ?  " 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  Then  she  who  had, 
or  thought  she  had,  so  much  more  reason  to  be 
hopeful  than  he,  dashed  the  tears  away  from  her 
eyes,  and  talked  hopefully.  They  would  not  dare 
to  lay  a  finger  upon  Bernard  Maddison,  whatever 
they  might  have  done  to  poor  Mr.  Brown.  His 
great  name  would  protect  him  from  suspicion. 
And  as  he  listened  to  her  he  had  not  the  heart  to 
tell  her  of  the  men  who  had  followed  him  abroad, 
that  he  was  even  then  doubtless  under  surveillance. 
He  let  her  talk  on,  and  feigned  to  share  her  hope- 
fulness. 

The  time  came  when  they  passed  into  the  grounds 
of  the  Court,  and  then  she  thought  of  something 
else  which  she  must  say  to  him. 

"  We  have  a  visitor,  Bernard — only  one ;  but  I'm 
afraid  you  don't  like  him." 

Something  told  him  who  it  was.  He  stopped 
short  in  the  path. 

"  Not  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Yes.  I'm  so  sorry.  He  invited  himself ;  and 
there  is  something  I  must  tell  you  about  him." 

His  first  instinct  was  to  refuse  to  go  on,  but  it 
was  gone  in  a  moment,  after  one  glance  into  Hel- 
en's troubled  face. 

"  Don't  look  so  ashamed,"  he  said,  smiling 
faintly.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  him.  What  is  it  you 
were  going  to  tell  me  about  him  ?  " 

"  He  went  out  the  other  day  alone,  to  do  some 
botanizing,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  know  where  I  saw 
him?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"No.    Where?" 


THE  NEW  TENANT  219 

"  In  your  cottage.  I  saw  him  sitting  at  your 
table,  and  I  saw  him  come  out.  He  looked  terribly 
troubled,  just  as  though  he  had  found  out  some- 
thing." 

He  seemed  in  no  wise  so  much  disturbed  as  she 
had  feared. 

"  It's  astonishing  how  many  people  are  in- 
terested in  my  affairs,"  he  said  with  grim  light- 
ness. 

"  No  one  so  much  as  I  am,"  she  whispered  softly. 
"  Bernard,  I  must  tell  you  something  about  papa.  I 
had  almost  forgotten." 

"  Yes.  Has  he  been  exercising  a  landlord's  privi- 
lege, too?  " 

"  Of  course  not,  sir.  But,  Bernard,  people  have 
been  talking,  and  he  has  heard  them,  and " 

Her  face  grew  troubled,  and  he  stood  still. 

"  He  suspects,  too,  does  he?  Then  I  certainly 
cannot  force  him  to  become  my  host." 

She  took  hold  of  both  of  his  hands,  and  looked  up 
at  him  pleadingly. 

"  Don't  be  stupid,  Bernard,  dear,  please.  I 
didn't  say  that  he  suspected.  Only  people  have  been 
talking,  and  of  course  it  leaves  an  impression.  You 
must  make  friends  with  him,  you  know.  Won't 
you  have  something  to  ask  him — some  day — per- 
haps?" 

She  turned  away,  blushing  a  little,  and  he  was 
conquered. 

"  Very  well,  love,  I  will  come  then,"  he  said. 
"  Only,  please,  you  must  go  and  tell  him  directly  we 
get  there;  and  if  he  would  rather  not  have  me  for  a 
guest,  you  must  come  and  let  me  know.  I  will  sit 
at  no  man's  table  under  protest,"  he  added,  with  a 
sudden  flush  of  pride. 

"  He'll  be  very  pleased  to  have  you,"  she  said 


220  THE  NEW   TENANT 

simply.  "  A  few  words  from  me  will  be  quite 
enough." 

"  Your  empire  extends  further  than  over  my 
heart,  I  see,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  There  is  your 
father  coming  round  from  the  stables.  Suppose  we 
go  to  him." 

They  met  him  face  to  face  in  the  hall.  When  he 
saw  who  his  daughter's  companion  was  he  looked 
for  a  moment  grave.  But  he  had  all  the  courtly 
instincts  of  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  and 
though  outside  he  might  have  acted  differently,  the 
man  was  under  his  own  roof  now,  and  must  be 
treated  as  a  guest.  Besides,  he  had  implicit  faith  in 
his  daughter's  judgment.  So  he  held  out  his  hand 
without  hesitation. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Maddison.  We  began  to 
fear  that  you  had  deserted  us,"  he  said. 

"  I  have  been  away  longer  than  I  intended,"  Ber- 
nard Maddison  answered  quietly. 

"  Of  course  you  dine  here,"  Mr.  Thurwell  con- 
tinued, moving  away.  "  You'll  find  Beaumerville 
in  the  library  or  the  smoke  room.  You  know  your 
way  about,  don't  you?  My  gamekeeper  wants  to 
speak  to  me  for  a  moment.  I  shan't  be  long." 

He  crossed  the  hall,  and  entered  his  own  room. 
Helen  slipped  her  arm  through  her  lover's,  and  led 
him  away  in  the  opposite  direction,  down  a  long 
passage  to  the  other  end  of  the  house. 

"  Consider  yourself  highly  favored,  sir,"  she  said, 
pausing  with  her  hand  upon  one  of  the  furthest 
doors.  "  You  are  the  only  male  being,  except  my 
father,  who  has  ever  been  admitted  here." 

She  led  him  into  a  daintily  furnished  morning 
room,  full  of  all  those  trifling  indications  of  a 
woman's  constant  presence  which  possesses  for  the 
man  who  loves  her  a  peculiar  and  almost  reverent 


THE  NEW  TENANT  221 

interest.  There  was  her  fancy  work  lying  where 
she  had  put  it  down  on  the  little  wicker  table,  a  book 
with  a  paper  knife  in  it,  one  of  his  own ;  by  its  side 
an  open  piano,  with  a  little  pile  of  songs  on  the 
stool,  and  a  sleek  dachshund  blinking  up  at  them 
from  the  hearthrug.  The  appointments  of  the 
room  were  simple  enough,  and  yet  everything 
seemed  to  speak  of  a  culture,  a  refinement,  and 
withal  a  dainty  feminine  charm  which  appealed  to 
him  both  as  an  artist  and  a  lover.  She  drew  an 
easy  chair  to  the  fire,  and  when  he  was  seated,  came 
and  stood  over  him. 

"  I  expect  you  to  like  my  room,  sir,"  she  said 
softly.  "Do  you?" 

"  It  is  like  you,"  he  answered ;  "  it  is  perfect." 

They  were  together  for  half  an  hour,  and  then 
the  dressing  bell  sounded.  She  jumped  up  at  once 
from  her  little  low  chair  by  his  side. 

"  I  must  go  and  give  orders  about  your  room," 
she  said.  "  Of  course  you  will  stop  with  us.  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  where  to  put  you.  Roberts 
shall  come  and  take  you  to  your  room  in  a  few 
moments." 

"  Dressing  will  be  a  farce  for  me,"  he  remarked. 
"  I  have  no  clothes." 

"Oh,  we'll  forgive  you,"  she  laughed.  "Of 
course  you  were  too  anxious  to  get  here  to  think 
about  clothes.  That  was  quite  as  it  should  be. 
Good-by!  Don't  be  dull." 

He  was  alone  only  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  a 
servant  knocked  at  the  door  and  took  him  to  his 
room.  He  looked  around  him,  and  saw  more 
evidences  of  her  care  for  him.  In  the  sitting  room, 
which  opened  on  one  side,  was  a  great  bowl  of 
freshly  cut  flowers,  a  pile  of  new  books,  and  a 
photograph  of  herself.  The  rooms  were  the  finest 


222  THE  NEW  TENANT 

in  the  house.  The  oak  paneled  walls  were  hung 
with  tapestry,  and  every  piece  of  furniture  was  an 
antique  curiosity.  It  was  a  bedchamber  for  a 
prince,  and  indeed  a  royal  prince  had  once  slept  in 
the  quaint  high  four-poster  with  its  carved  oak  pil- 
lars and  ancient  hangings. 

To  Bernard  Maddison,  as  he  strolled  round  and 
examined  his  surroundings,  it  all  seemed  like  a 
dream — so  delightful,  that  awakening  was  a  thing 
to  be  dreaded  indeed.  The  loud  ringing  of  the  sec- 
ond bell,  however,  soon  brought  him  back  to  the 
immediate  present.  He  hastily  made  such  altera- 
tions in  his  toilet  as  were  possible,  and  descended. 
In  the  hall  he  met  Helen,  who  had  changed  her 
dress  for  a  soft  cream-colored  dinner  gown,  and 
was  waiting  for  him. 

"  Do  you  like  your  room  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Like  it  ?  It  is  perfect,"  he  answered  quietly. 
"  I  had  no  idea  that  Thurwell  was  so  old.  I  like 
you,  too,"  he  added,  glancing  approvingly  at  her 
and  taking  her  hand. 

"  No  time  for  compliments,  sir,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing. "  We  must  go  into  the  drawing-room ;  Sir 
Allan  is  there  alone." 

He  followed  her  across  the  hall,  and  entered  the 
room  with  her.  Sir  Allan,  with  his  back  to  them, 
was  seated  at  the  piano,  softly  playing  an  air  of 
Chopin's  to  himself.  At  the  sound  of  the  opening 
door,  he  turned  round. 

"  Sir  Allan,  you  see  we  have  found  another  vis- 
itor to  take  pity  on  us,"  Helen  said.  "  You  know 
Mr.  Maddison,  don't  you  ?  " 

The  music,  which  Sir  Allan  had  been  continuing 
with  his  right  hand,  came  to  a  sudden  end,  and  for 
the  space  of  a  few  seconds  he  remained  perfectly 
motionless.  Then  he  rose  and  bowed  slightly. 


THE   NEW  TENANT  223 

"  I  have  that  pleasure,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Mr. 
Maddison  is  a  neighbor  of  yours,  is  he  not  ?  I  met 
him,  you  know,  on  a  certain  very  melancholy  occa- 
sion." 

"Will  you  go  on  playing?"  she  asked,  sinking 
down  on  a  low  settee ;  "  we  should  like  to  listen." 

He  sat  down  again,  and  with  half-closed  eyes 
recommenced  the  air.  Helen  and  Bernard  Mad- 
dison, sitting  side  by  side,  spoke  every  now 
and  then  to  one  another  in  a  low  tone.  There 
was  no  general  conversation  until  Mr.  Thurwell 
entered,  and  then  dinner  was  announced  almost 
immediately. 

There  was  no  lack  of  conversation  then.  At  first 
it  had  lain  chiefly  between  Mr.  Thurwell  and  Sir 
Allan  Beaumerville,  but  catching  a  somewhat  anx- 
ious glance  from  Helen,  her  lover  suddenly  threw 
off  his  silence.  "  When  Maddison  talks,"  one  of  his 
admirers  had  once  said,  "  everyone  else  listens  " ; 
and  if  that  was  not  quite  so  in  the  present  case,  it 
was  simply  because  he  had  the  art  of  drawing  who- 
ever he  chose  into  the  conversation,  and  making 
them  appear  far  greater  sharers  in  it  than  they 
really  were.  What  was  in  truth  a  monologue  seemed 
to  be  a  brilliantly  sustained  conversation,  in  which 
Maddison  himself  was  at  once  the  promoter  and  the 
background.  On  his  part  there  was  not  a  single 
faulty  phrase  or  unmusical  expression.  Every  idea 
he  sprang  upon  them  was  clothed  in  picturesque 
garb,  and  artistically  conceived.  It  was  the  out- 
pouring of  a  richly  stored,  cultured  mind — the  per- 
fect expression  of  perfect  matter. 

The  talk  had  drifted  toward  Italy,  and  the  art  of 
the  Renaissance.  Mr.  Thurwell  had  made  some  re- 
mark upon  the  picturesque  beauties  of  some  of  the 
lesser-known  towns  in  the  north,  and  Bernard  Mad- 


224  THE   NEW  TENANT 

dison  had  taken  up  the  theme  with  a  new  enthu- 
siasm. 

"  I  am  but  just  come  back  from  such  a  one,"  he 
said.  "  I  wonder  if  I  could  describe  it." 

And  he  did  describe  it.  He  told  them  of  the 
crumbling  palaces,  beautiful  in  their  perfect  Vene- 
tian architecture,  but  still  more  beautiful  now  in 
their  slow,  grand  decay,  in  which  was  all  the  majesty 
of  deep  repose  teeming  with  suggestions  of  past 
glories.  He  spoke  of  the  still,  clear  air,  the  delicate 
tints  of  the  softened  landscape,  the  dark  cool  green 
of  the  olive  trees,  the  green  vineyards,  and  the  dim 
blue  hills.  He  tried  to  make  them  understand  the 
sweet  silence,  the  pastoral  simplicity  of  the  sur- 
rounding country,  delicate  and  airy  when  the  faint 
sunlight  of  early  morning  lay  across  its  valleys  and 
sloping  vineyards,  rich  and  drowsy  and  languorous 
when  the  full  glow  of  midday  or  the  scented  dark- 
ness of  the  starlit  night  succeeded.  Then  he  passed 
on  to  speak  of  that  garden — the  fairest  wilderness 
it  was  possible  to  conceive — where  the  violets  grew 
like  weeds  upon  the  moss-grown  paths,  and  brill- 
iant patches  of  wild  geraniums  mingled  their  per- 
fume with  the  creamy  clematis  run  wild,  and  the 
clustering  japonica. 

"  She  who  lives  there,"  he  went  on  more  slowly, 
turning  from  Helen  toward  Sir  Allan,  "  is  in  per- 
fect accord  with  everything  that  is  sweet  and  stately 
and  picturesque  in  her  surroundings.  I  see  her  now 
as  she  met  me  in  the  garden,  and  stretched  out  her 
hands  to  greet  me.  It  is  the  face,  the  form  of  a 
martyr  and  an  angel.  She  is  tall,  and  her  garb  is 
one  of  stately  simplicity.  Her  hair  is  white  as  snow, 
and  the  lines  of  her  face  are  wasted  with  sorrow 
and  physical  decay.  Yet  there  is  sweetness  and 
softness  and  light  in  her  worn  features — aye,  and 


THE  NEW  TENANT  225 

more  almost  than  a  human  being's  share  of  that 
exquisite  spirituality  which  is  the  reward  only  of 
those  who  have  triumphed  over  pain  and  suffering 
and  sin.  Guido  would  have  given  the  world  for 
such  a  face.  Little  does  an  artist  think  at  what  cost 
such  an  expression  is  won.  Through  the  fires  of 
shame  and  bitter  wrong,  of  humiliation  and  heart- 
shattering  agony,  the  human  cross  has  fallen  away, 
and  the  gold  of  her  nature  shines  pure  and  refined. 
God  grant  to  those  who  have  wronged  her,  those  at 
whose  door  her  sin  lies,  as  happy  a  deathbed  as  hers 
will  be.  Sir  Allan,  I  am  boring  you,  I  fear.  We 
will  change  the  subject." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  have  been — very  interested,"  Sir 
Allan  answered  in  a  low  tone,  pouring  himself  out 
a  glass  of  wine,  and  raising  it  to  lips  as  white  as  the 
camellia  in  his  buttonhole. 

"  We  are  all  interested/'  Helen  said  softly. 
"  Did  you  stay  with  her?  " 

"  For  three  days,"  he  answered.  "  Then,  be- 
cause I  could  not  bring  myself  to  tell  her  the  news 
which  I  had  gone  all  that  way  to  impart,  I  came 
away." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  A  servant  who 
had  just  entered  the  room  whispered  in  Mr.  Thur- 
well's  ear. 

"  Two  gentlemen  wish  to  speak  to  you,  Mr.  Mad- 
dison,"  he  said,  repeating  the  message.  "  Where 
have  you  shown  them,  Roberts  ? — in  the  library  ?  " 

"  I  wished  to  do  so,  sir,"  the  man  replied, 
"  but " 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  Every  one  looked 
toward  the  door.  Just  outside  were  two  dark  fig- 
ures. To  three  people  at  the  table  the  truth  came 
like  a  flash. 

Sir  Allan  sat  quite  still,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 


226  THE   NEW   TENANT 

Bernard  Maddison,  who  had  risen  to  his  feet,  pale 
as  death,  with  rigidly  compressed  lips,  and  nerv- 
ously grasping  his  napkin.  Helen,  too,  had  risen, 
with  a  look  of  horror  in  her  white  face,  and  her 
eyes  fastened  upon  her  lover.  Mr.  Thurwell  looked 
from  one  to  the  other,  not  comprehending  the  situa- 
tion. The  whole  scene,  the  glittering  table  laden 
with  flowers  and  wine,  the  wondering  servant,  the 
attitude  and  faces  of  the  four  people,  and  the  dark 
figures  outside,  would  have  made  a  marvelous 
tableau. 

Suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  low  ago- 
nized cry.  Helen  had  thrown  her  arms  with  a  sud- 
den impulsive  gesture  around  her  lover's  neck. 

"  My  love,  my  love !  "  she  cried,  "  it  is  I  who 
have  done  this  thing.  They  shall  not  take  you  from 
me — they  shall  not !  " 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

ARRESTED 

As  is  often  the  case,  the  person  most  concerned 
in  the  culmination  of  this  scene  was  apparently  the 
least  agitated,  and  the  first  to  recover  his  self-pos- 
session. Gently  loosening  Helen's  arms  from 
around  him,  Bernard  Maddison  walked  steadily 
toward  the  door,  and  confronted  his  visitors.  One 
was  his  fellow-passenger  from  London,  the  other  a 
tall,  wiry-looking  man,  who  was  standing  with  his 
hat  under  his  arm,  and  his  hands  in  the  pocket  of  a 
long  traveling  coat. 

"  I  am  Bernard  Maddison,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  What  is  your  business  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir,  that  it  is  rather  unpleasant,"  the 
man  answered,  lowering  his  voice.  "  It  is  my  duty 
to  arrest  you  under  this  warrant,  charging  you  with 
the  murder  of  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  on  the  I2th  of 
August  last  year.  Please  do  not  make  any  answer 
to  the  charge,  as  anything  that  is  now  said  by  you 
or  anyone  present,  in  connection  with  it,  can  be  used 
in  evidence  against  you." 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  with  you  at  once,"  he  an- 
swered. "  The  sooner  we  get  away  the  better.  I 
have  no  luggage  here,  so  I  do  not  need  to  make  any 
preparations." 

He  felt  a  hand  on  his  arm,  and  turned  round. 
Mr.  Thurwell  had  recovered  from  his  first  stupefac- 
tion, and  had  come  to  his  side.  Close  behind  him, 

337 


228  THE   NEW  TENANT 

Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  was  standing,  pale  as  death, 
and  with  a  curious  glitter  in  his  eyes. 

"  Maddison,  what  is  this  ?  "  Mr.  Thurwell  asked 
gravely. 

"  I  am  arrested  on  a  charge  of  murdering  Sir 
Geoffrey  Kynaston  at  your  shooting  party  last 
year,"  Bernard  Maddison  answered  quietly.  "  I 
make  no  reply  to  the  charge,  save  that  I  am  not 
guilty.  I  am  sorry  that  this  should  have  occurred 
at  your  house.  Had  I  received  any  intimation  of  it, 
I  would  not  have  come  here.  As  it  is,  I  can  only 
express  my  regret." 

Although  in  some  respects  a  plain  man,  there  was 
a  certain  innate  dignity  of  carriage  and  deportment 
which  always  distinguished  Bernard  Maddison 
among  other  men.  Never  had  it  been  more  appar- 
ent than  at  that  moment.  There  was  unconscious 
hauteur  in  his  manner  of  meeting  this  awful  charge, 
in  his  tone,  and  in  the  perfect  calm  of  his  demeanor, 
which  was  more  powerful  than  any  vehement  pro- 
testations could  have  been.  Mr.  Thurwell  had 
long  had  his  doubts,  and  very  uneasy  doubts, 
concerning  this  matter,  but  at  that  moment  he 
felt  ashamed  of  them.  He  made  up  his  mind 
on  impulse,  but  what  he  said  he  meant  and  ad- 
hered to. 

"  I  believe  you,  Mr.  Maddison,"  he  said  cordially, 
holding  out  his  hand.  "  I  think  that  the  charge  is 
absurd.  In  any  case,  please  reckon  me  amongst 
your  friends.  If  there  is  no  one  else  whom  you 
would  prefer  to  see,  I  will  go  and  get  Dewes  down 
from  town  in  the  morning." 

For  the  first  time  Bernard  Maddison  showed 
some  slight  sign  of  emotion.  He  took  Mr.  Thur- 
well's  hand,  but  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Then, 
as  they  stood  there  in  a  little  group,  Helen  glided 


THE   NEW  TENANT  229 

up  to  them  with  a  faint  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a 
strange  look  in  her  white  face. 

"Father,"  she  said,  "thank  God  for  those 
words !  " 

Then  she  turned  to  her  lover,  and  gave  him  both 
her  hands,  looking  up  at  him  through  a  mist  of 
tears,  but  still  with  that  ghostly  smile  upon  her 
parted  lips. 

"  Bernard,"  she  said  softly,  "  you  know  that  I 
have  no  doubts.  You  must  go  now,  but  it  will  not 
be  for  long.  You  will  come  back  to  us,  and  we 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you.  You  need  not  trouble 
about  me.  See,  I  am  quite  calm.  It  is  because  I 
have  no  fear." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  hands,  but  she  held  up 
her  face. 

"  Kiss  me,  Bernard/'  she  said  softly.  "Father," 
she  added,  turning  half  round  toward  him,  "  I  love 
him.  We  should  have  told  you  everything  to-mor- 
row." 

Mr.  Thurwell  bowed  his  head,  and  turned  away 
to  speak  to  the  detectives,  who  had  remained  dis- 
creetly outside  the  door.  Sir  Allan  returned  to  his 
seat,  and  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  wine.  For  a 
moment  they  were  all  alone,  and  he  held  her  hands 
tightly. 

"  This  will  all  come  right,  love,"  she  whispered 
softly;  "and  it  will  make  no  difference,  will  it? 
Promise  me  that  when  it  is  over  you  will  come 
straight  to  me.  Promise  me  that,  and  I  will  be 
brave.  If  you  do  not,  I  shall  break  my  heart." 

"  Then  I  promise  it,"  he  answered,  with  a  slight 
tremble  in  his  voice. 

But  looking  at  him  anxiously,  she  was  not  satis- 
fied. His  white  face,  firm  and  resolute  though  it 
was,  had  a  certain  despair  in  it  which  chilled  her. 


230  THE  NEW  TENANT 

The  hopefulness  of  her  words  seemed  to  have  found 
no  echo  in  his  heart. 

"  Dearest,"  she  whispered,  "  it  will  all  come 
right" 

His  expression  changed,  but  the  effort  of  it  was 
visible.  His  smile  was  forced,  and  his  words,  light 
though  they  were,  troubled  her. 

"  We  must  hope  so.  Nay,  it  will  come  right, 
dear.  Wish  me  good-by  now,  or  rather,  au  revoir. 
My  guardians  will  be  getting  impatient." 

They  were  virtually  alone,  and  he  drew  from  her 
lips  one  long,  passionate  kiss.  Then,  with  a  few 
cheerful  words,  he  turned  resolutely  away.  Mr. 
Thurwell,  who  had  been  waiting  outside,  came  to 
him  at  once. 

"  The  brougham  is  at  the  door,"  he  said,  with  an 
anxious  glance  at  Helen,  who  was  leaning  back 
against  a  chair,  her  hands  locked  in  one  another, 
ghastly  pale,  and  evidently  on  the  point  of  fainting. 
"  These  men  have  only  an  open  trap,  and  it  is  a  cold 
drive  across  the  moor.  To-morrow  you  go  to  York 
to  be  brought  before  the  magistrates.  I  shall  be 
there." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  Bernard  Maddison  said 
earnestly ;  "  but,  so  far  as  defence  is  concerned,  I 
will  have  no  lawyer's  aid.  What  little  there  is  to 
be  said,  I  will  say  myself." 

Mr.  Thurwell  shook  his  head. 

"  It  does  not  do,"  he  said.  "  But  there  will  be 
time  to  consider  that.  The  magistrates  will  be  sure 
to  commit  you  for  trial.  They  must  have  evidence 
enough  for  that,  or  Mr.  Malcolm  would  never  have 
signed  the  warrant  against  anyone  in  your  posi- 
tion." 

"  I  am  quite  prepared  for  that,"  he  answered. 
"  Let  us  go." 


THE   NEW  TENANT  231 

They  left  the  room  at  once.  Helen  had  fainted 
in  her  chair.  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  had  appar- 
ently disappeared. 

They  stood  on  the  doorstep  for  a  moment  while 
the  carriage,  which  had  been  driven  a  little  way 
down  the  avenue  to  quiet  the  mettlesome  horses,  re- 
turned, and  Mr.  Thurwell  spoke  a  few  more  encour- 
aging words. 

"  Jenkins  has  packed  some  things  of  mine,  which 
may  be  useful  to  you,  in  a  portmanteau,"  he  said. 
"  You  will  find  it  in  the  carriage,  and  also  an  ulster. 
Keep  up  your  spirits,  Maddison.  All  will  be 
well." 

"  At  any  rate,  I  shall  never  forget  your  kind- 
ness," Bernard  Maddison  answered,  grasping  his 
hand.  "  Good-by,  Mr.  Thurwell !  " 

"  Good  night,  Maddison,  good  night !  I  shall  see 
you  to-morrow." 

The  impatient  horses  leaped  forward,  and  Mr. 
Thurwell  turned  back  into  the  hall,  and  made  his 
way  back  into  the  dining  room.  Helen  had  recov- 
ered sufficiently  to  be  able  to  go  to  her  room,  he  was 
told.  Sir  Allan  was  still  sitting  at  the  table,  quietly 
sipping  a  cup  of  coffee.  His  legs  were  crossed,  and 
he  was  smoking  one  of  his  favorite  Egyptian  cigar- 
ettes. 

"  Has  he  gone  ? "  he  said,  looking  round  lan- 
guidly. 

Mr.  Thurwell  frowned.  He  was  a  man  of  some- 
what imperturbable  manners  himself,  but  he 
was  far  from  being  unfeeling,  and  Sir  Allan's 
silence  and  non-expression  of  any  sympathy 
toward  Bernard  Maddison  annoyed  him  not  a 
little. 

"  Yes,  he's  gone,"  he  answered  shortly.  "  I  can't 
believe  that  there's  the  slightest  vestige  of  truth  in 


232  THE   NEW   TENANT 

that  ridiculous  charge.  The  man  is  innocent;  I'm 
sure  of  it." 

Sir  Allan  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  believe  he's  guilty  myself,"  he  an- 
swered;  "  but  one  never  knows." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

COMMITTED   FOR   TRIAL 

EARLY  on  the  following  morning  Mr.  Thurwell 
ordered  his  dog  cart,  and  drove  into  Mallory.  The 
arrest  of  Bernard  Maddison  had  been  kept  quite 
secret,  and  nothing  was  known  as  yet  of  the  news 
which  was  soon  to  throw  the  little  town  into  a 
state  of  great  excitement.  But  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  courthouse  there  was  already  some 
stir.  The  lord  lieutenant's  carriage  was  drawn  up 
outside,  and  there  was  an  unusual  muster  of  mag- 
istrates. As  a  rule  the  cases  brought  before  their 
jurisdiction  were  trivial  in  the  extreme,  consisting 
chiefly  of  drunkenness,  varied  by  an  occasional 
petty  assault.  There  was  scarcely  one  of  them 
who  remembered  having  sat  upon  so  serious  a 
charge.  Lord  Lathon  came  over  to  Mr.  Thurwell 
directly  he  entered  the  retiring  room. 

"  You  have  heard  of  this  matter,  I  suppose  ?  "  he 
inquired,  as  they  shook  hands. 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Thurwell  answered  gravely.  "  He 
was  arrested  at  my  house  last  night." 

"  I  can't  believe  the  thing  possible,"  Lord  Lathon 
continued.  "  Still,  from  what  I  hear,  we  shall  cer- 
tainly have  to  send  it  for  trial." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will,"  Mr.  Thurwell  answered. 
"  I  shall  not  sit  myself;  I  am  prejudiced." 

"  In  his  favor  or  the  reverse  ?  "  his  lordship  in- 
quired. 

233 


234  THE  NEW  TENANT 

"  In  his  favor,  decidedly,"  Mr.  Thurwell  an- 
swered, passing  out  behind  the  others,  and  taking  a 
seat  in  the  body  of  the  room. 

The  general  impatience  was  doomed  to  be  aggra- 
vated. The  first  prisoner  was  an  old  man  charged 
rwith  assaulting  his  wife.  The  bench  listened  for  a 
few  minutes  to  her  garrulous  tale,  and  managed  to 
gather  from  it  that  a  caution  from  their  worships 
was  what  she  chiefly  desired.  Having  arrived  at 
this  point,  Lord  Lathon  ruthlessly  stopped  her,  and 
dismissed  the  case,  with  a  few  stern  words  to  the 
elderly  reprobate,  who  departed  muttering  threats 
against  his  better  half  which,  for  her  bodily  com- 
fort, it  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  did  not  put  into  exe- 
cution. 

Then  there  was  a  few  minutes'  expectation,  at 
the  conclusion  of  which  Bernard  Maddison  was 
brought  in  between  two  policemen,  very  calm  and 
self-possessed,  but  very  pale.  Directly  he  appeared 
Mr.  Thurwell  rose  and  shook  hands  with  him,  a 
friendly  demonstration  which  brought  a  faint  glow 
into  his  cheeks. 

He  was  offered  a  chair,  and  the  services  of  the 
solicitor  of  the  place,  the  latter  of  which  he  de- 
clined. Then  the  chief  constable,  a  little  flurried  and 
nervous  at  the  unwonted  importance  of  his  office, 
rose,  and  addressed  the  bench. 

The  case  against  the  prisoner  was,  he  said,  still 
altogether  incomplete,  and  he  had  only  one  witness, 
whose  evidence,  however,  he  felt  sure,  would  be 
such  as  to  justify  their  sending  the  matter  to  be  de- 
cided before  a  judicial  tribunal.  No  doubt  they  all 
remembered  the  painful  circumstances  of  Sir  Geof- 
frey Kynaston's  death,  and  the  mystery  with  which 
it  was  surrounded.  That  death  took  place  within 
a  stone's  throw  of  the  cottage  where  the  prisoner 


THE  NEW  TENANT  235 

was  then  living,  under  an  assumed  name,  and  more 
than  three  miles  away  from  any  other  dwelling 
place  or  refuge  of  any  sort.  He  reminded  them  of 
the  speedy  search  that  had  been  made,  and  its  extra- 
ordinary non-success.  Under  those  circumstances 
a  certain  amount  of  suspicion  naturally  attached  it- 
self to  the  prisoner,  and  a  search  warrant  was  duly 
applied  for,  and  duly  carried  out.  At  that  time  noth- 
ing suspicious  was  discovered,  owing  in  some  meas- 
ure, he  was  bound  to  say,  to  the  scrupulous  delicacy 
with  which  the  magistrate  who  had  signed  it — look- 
ing toward  Mr.  Thurwell — had  insisted  upon  its 
being  carried  out.  Subsequently,  however,  and 
acting  upon  later  information,  Detective  Robson  of 
Scotland  Yard  was  appointed  to  look  into  the  case, 
and  the  result  of  his  investigation  was  the  issuing 
of  the  warrant  under  which  the  prisoner  stood 
charged  with  the  murder  of  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston. 
Their  worships  would  hear  the  evidence  of  Detect- 
ive Robson,  who  was  now  present. 

Detective  Robson  stepped  forward,  and  was 
sworn.  On  the  i$th  of  June  last,  he  said,  he 
searched  the  prisoner's  cottage  on  the  Thurwell 
Court  estate.  He  there  found  in  the  secret  recess 
of  a  cabinet,  which  had  apparently  not  been 
opened  for  some  time,  a  dagger,  produced,  in  a  case 
evidently  intended  to  hold  two,  and  which  was  an 
exact  facsimile  of  the  one,  also  produced,  with 
which  the  murder  was  committed.  He  found  also 
a  towel,  produced,  which  was  stained  with  blood, 
and  several  letters.  With  regard  to  the  towel,  he 
here  added,  that  in  one  corner  of  the  room  was  fixed 
a  small  basin,  and  on  the  floor  just  beneath,  covered 
over  by  a  carpet,  and  bearing  several  signs  of  at- 
tempted obliteration,  was  a  large  blood  stain.  The 
woman  who  had  cleaned  the  cottage  prior  to  Mr. 


236  THE   NEW  TENANT 

Maddison's  occupation,  was  in  court,  and  would 
swear  that  the  stain  in  question  was  not  there  at 
that  time.  He  mentioned  these  details  first,  he  went 
on  to  say,  but  the  more  important  part  of  his  evi- 
dence had  reference  to  these  letters,  and  his  subse- 
quent action  with  regard  to  them.  He  would  call 
attention  to  one  of  them,  he  remarked,  producing 
it,  and  allow  the  bench  to  draw  their  own  conclu- 
sions. He  would  read  it  to  them,  and  they  could 
then  examine  it  for  themselves. 

The  thin  rustling  sheet  of  foreign  notepaper, 
which  he  held  in  his  hand,  was  covered  closely  with 
delicate  feminine  handwriting,  and  emitted  a  faint 
sweet  perfume.  For  the  first  time  during  the  hear- 
ing of  the  case  Bernard  Maddison  showed  some 
slight  emotion  as  the  letters  were  handed  about. 
But  he  restrained  it  immediately. 

The  sentence  which  Detective  Robson  read  out 
was  as  follows : — 

"  Bernard,  those  who  have  sinned  against  their 
fellow  creatures,  and  against  their  God,  may  surely 
be  left  to  His  judgment  The  vengeance  which 
seeks  to  take  life  is  a  cruel  bloodthirsty  passion 
which  no  wrong  can  excuse,  no  suffering  justify. 
Forgive  me  if  I  seem  to  dwell  so  much  upon  this. 
That  terrible  oath  which,  at  his  bidding,  I  heard  you 
swear  against  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  rings  ever  in 
my  ears! " 

There  were  other  sentences  of  a  somewhat  simi- 
lar nature.  As  Mr.  Thurwell  listened  to  them  he 
felt  his  heart  sink.  What  could  avail  against  such 
evidence  as  this  ? 

There  was  no  hesitation  at  all  on  the  part  of  the 
magistrates.  Bernard  Maddison  had  pleaded  "  not 


THE  NEW  TENANT  237 

guilty,"  but  had  declined  to  say  another  word. 
"  Anything  there  is  to  be  said  on  my  behalf,"  he  re- 
marked quietly,  in  answer  to  a  question  from  the 
bench,  "  I  will  say  myself  to  the  jury  before  whom 
I  presume  you  will  send  me." 

While  the  committal  was  being  made  out,  Mr. 
Thurwell  leaned  over  and  whispered  to  him. 

"  Helen  sends  her  love.  I  will  arrange  about  the 
defence,  and  will  try  and  see  you  myself  before  the 
trial." 

"  You  need  send  no  lawyer  to  me,"  he  answered. 
"  I  shall  defend  myself." 

Mr.  Thrrwell  said  no  more.  He  was  a  little 
dazed  by  those  letters,  but  he  was  not  going  to 
allow  himself  to  be  influenced  by  them,  for  his 
daughter's  sake,  as  well  as  his  own.  He  did  not 
like  to  admit  himself  in  the  wrong,  and  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  this  man  was  innocent.  Innocent 
he  must  therefore  be  proved.  As  to  his  defending 
himself,  that  was  all  nonsense.  He  would  see  to 
that.  Dewes  should  be  instructed. 

The  committal  was  read  out,  and  Bernard  Mad- 
dison  was  removed  from  the  court.  On  the  follow- 
ing day  he  was  to  be  taken  to  York,  there  to  be 
tried  at  the  forthcoming  assizes.  Mr.  Thurwell 
bade  him  keep  up  his  courage  in  a  tone  which, 
though  it  was  intended  to  be  cheerful,  was  not  par- 
ticularly sanguine.  There  was  but  one  opinion  in 
the  court,  and  despite  all  his  efforts  its  influence  had 
a  certain  effect  upon  him.  But  Bernard  Maddison 
never  carried  himself  more  proudly  than  when  he 
bowed  to  Lord  Lathon,  and  left  the  court  that 
morning. 

At  home  Helen  was  eagerly  waiting  for  the  news. 
She  had  no  need  to  ask,  for  her  father's  face  was 
eloquent. 


238  THE   NEW  TENANT 

"  Is  it — very  bad  ?  "  she  whispered. 

He  looked  away  from  her  with  a  queer  feeling  in 
his  throat.  To  see  his  daughter,  who  had  always 
been  so  quiet,  and  self-contained,  and  dignified — 
his  princess,  he  had  been  used  to  call  her — to  see  her 
trembling  with  nervous  fear,  was  a  new  and  terrible 
thing  to  him,  and  to  be  able  to  offer  her  no  comfort 
was  worse  still.  But  what  could  he  say  ? 

"  The  evidence  was  rather  bad,"  he  admitted, 
"  and  only  a  portion  of  it  was  produced.  Still,  we 
must  hope  for  the  best." 

"  Please  tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  begged,  very 
quietly,  but  with  a  look  in  her  white  face  which 
made  him  turn  away  from  her  with  a  groan.  But 
he  obeyed,  and  told  her  everything.  And  then 
there  was  a  long  silence. 

"  How  did  he  look  ?  "  she  asked,  after  a  while. 

"  Very  pale ;  but  he  behaved  in  a  most  dignified 
manner  throughout,"  he  told  her.  "  He  must  be 
well  born.  I  wonder  what  or  where  his  people  are  ? 
I  never  heard  of  any  of  them.  Did  you  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  He  told  me  once  that  he  had  no  friends,  and 
no  relations,  and  no  name  save  the  one  which  he 
had  made  for  himself,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  know 
whether  he  meant  that  Maddison  was  not  his  real 
name,  or  whether  he  meant  simply  his  reputation." 

"  There  must  be  people  in  London  who  know 
all  about  him,"  Mr.  Thurwell  remarked.  "  A  man 
of  his  celebrity  can  scarcely  conceal  his  family 
history." 

Helen  had  walked  a  little  away,  and  was  stand- 
ing before  the  window,  looking  out  with  listless 
eyes. 

"  Father,  I  wonder  whether  Sir  Allan  Beaumer- 
ville  has  anything  to  do  with  this  ? "  she  said. 


THE   NEW   TENANT  239 

"  Has  he  ever  hinted  to  you  that  he  suspected  Mr. 
Maddison?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  answered.  "  Why  do  you 
ask?" 

"  Because  one  afternoon  last  week  I  saw  him 
come  out  of  Falcon's  Nest.  It  was  the  afternoon 
he  went  botanizing." 

Mr.  Thurwell  shook  his  head. 

"  The  detective  mentioned  the  date  of  his 
visit  and  search,"  he  said.  "  It  was  a  month 
ago." 

She  wrung  her  hands,  and  turned  away  in 
despair. 

"  It  must  have  been  through  those  dreadful 
people  I  went  to,"  she  sobbed.  "  Oh,  I  was  mad — 
mad ! " 

"  I  scarcely  think  that,"  Mr.  Thurwell  said 
thoughtfully.  "  They  would  not  have  kept  alto- 
gether in  the  background  and  let  Scotland  Yard 
take  the  lead,  if  it  had  been  so.  What  is  it,  Rob- 
erts?" 

The  servant  had  entered  bearing  an  orange-col- 
ored envelope  on  a  salver,  which  he  carried  towards 
Helen. 

"  A  telegram  for  Miss  Thurwell,  sir,"  he  said. 

She  took  it  and  tore  it  open.  It  was  from  the 
Strand,  London,  and  the  color  streamed  into  her 
cheeks  as  she  read  it  aloud. 

"  We  must  see  you  at  once  in  the  interests  of 
B.  M.  Can  you  call  on  us  to-morrow  morning? 
Levy  &  Son." 

"  When  are  the  assizes  at  York,  father  ? "  she 
asked  quickly. 
"  In  ten  days." 


240  THE   NEW   TENANT 

"  And  you  are  going  to  London  to-day,  are  you 
not,  to  see  Dewes  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  will  go  with  you,"  she  said,  crumpling 
up  the  telegram  in  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

MR.  LEVY  PROMISES  TO  DO  HIS  BEST 

ONCE  more  Mr.  Benjamin  Levy  trod  the  pave- 
ment of  Piccadilly  and  the  Strand,  and  was  wel- 
comed back  again  amongst  his  set  with  acclama- 
tions and  many  noisy  greetings.  One  more  unit 
was  added  to  the  vast  army  of  London  youth  who 
pass  their  time  in  the  fascinating  but  ignominious 
occupation  of  aping  the  "  man  about  town  "  in  a 
very  small  way.  And  Benjamin  Levy,  strange  to 
say,  was  happy,  for  the  life  suited  him  exactly.  He 
had  brains  and  money  enough  to  be  regarded,  in  a 
certain  measure,  as  one  of  their  leaders,  and  to  be 
looked  up  to  as  a  power  amongst  them,  and  it  was 
a  weakness  of  his  disposition  that  he  preferred  this 
to  being  a  nonentity  of  a  higher  type. 

Certain  of  his  particular  cronies  had  organized 
a  small  supper  at  a  middle-class  restaurant  on  the 
previous  night  in  honor  of  his  return,  and  as  a  nat- 
ural consequence  Mr.  Benjamin  Levy  walked  down 
the  Strand  at  about  half-past  ten  on  the  following 
morning,  on  his  way  to  the  office,  a  little  paler  than 
usual,  and  with  a  suspicion  of  a  "  head."  It  would 
have  suited  him  very  much  better  to  have  remained 
in  bed  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  risen  towards  after- 
noon; but  business  was  business,  and  it  must  be 
attended  to.  So  he  tried  to  banish  the  effects  of  the 
bad  champagne  imbibed  on  the  previous  night  with 
a  stiff  glass  of  brandy  and  soda,  and  lighting  a 

241 


242  THE   NEW   TENANT 

fresh  cigarette,  turned  off  the  Strand  and  made  his 
way  to  the  office. 

"  Guv'nor  in  ?  "  he  inquired  of  the  solitary  clerk, 
a  sharp-featured,  Jewish-looking  young  man,  who 
was  sitting  on  a  high  stool  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  apparently  unburdened  with  stress  of 
work. 

The  youth  nodded,  and  jerked  his  head  back- 
wards. 

"  Something's  up !  "  he  remarked  laconically ; 
"  he's  on  the  rampage." 

Mr.  Benjamin  passed  on  without  remark,  and  en- 
tered the  inner  office.  It  was  easy  indeed  to  see 
that  something  had  gone  wrong.  Mr.  Levy  was 
walking  restlessly  up  and  down,  with  a  newspaper, 
in  his  hand,  and  muttering  to  himself  in  a  disturbed 
manner.  At  his  son's  entrance  he  stopped  short, 
and  looked  at  him  angrily. 

"  Benjamin,  my  boy,"  he  said,  rustling  the  paper 
before  his  face,  "  you've  been  made  a  fool  of.  Scot- 
land Yard  have  licked  us !  " 

Mr.  Benjamin  yawned,  and  tilted  his  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  head. 

"  What's  up  now,  guv'nor  ?  "  he  inquired. 

His  father  laid  the  paper  flat  on  the  desk  before 
him,  and  pointed  to  one  of  the  paragraphs  with 
trembling  fingers. 

"  Read  that !    Read  that !  "  he  exclaimed. 

His  obedient  son  glanced  at  it,  and  pushed  the 
paper  away  in  contempt. 

"  Stale  news,"  he  remarked  shortly. 

Mr.  Levy  looked  at  him  amazed. 

"  Maybe  you  knew  all  about  it,"  he  remarked  a 
little  sarcastically. 

"  May  be  I  did,"  was  the  cool  reply. 

"  And  yet  you  have  let  them  be  beforehand  with 


THE  NEW  TENANT  243 

us!  "  Mr.  Levy  exclaimed  angrily.  "  If  this  was  to 
be  done,  why  did  we  not  do  it  ?  " 

"  Because  we've  got  a  better  game  to  play,"  an- 
swered the  junior  partner  of  the  firm,  with  a  hardly 
restrained  air  of  triumph. 

Mr.  Levy  regarded  his  son  with  a  look  of  aston- 
ishment, which  speedily  changed  into  one  of  ad- 
miration. 

"Is  this  true,  Benjamin?"  he  asked.  "But — 
but " 

"  But  you  don't  understand,"  Benjamin  inter- 
rupted impatiently.  "  Of  course  you  don't.  And 
you'll  have  to  wait  a  bit  for  an  explanation,  too,  for 
here's  the  very  person  I  was  expecting,"  he  added, 
raising  himself  on  his  stool,  and  looking  out  of  the 
window.  "  Now,  father,  just  you  sit  quiet,  and 
don't  say  a  word,"  he  went  on  quickly.  "  Leave 
it  all  to  me;  I'll  pull  the  thing  through." 

Mr.  Levy  had  only  time  to  express  by  a  pan- 
tomimic sign  his  entire  confidence  in  his  son's 
diplomacy  before  Miss  Thurwell  was  announced. 
She  was  shown  in  at  once. 

"  I  had  your  telegram,"  she  began  hurriedly. 
"  What  does  it  mean  ?  Can  you  do  anything  ?  " 

Mr.  Benjamin  placed  a  chair  for  her,  and  took  up 
his  favorite  position  on  the  hearthrug. 

"  I  hope  so,  Miss  Thurwell,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  First  of  all,  of  course  you  are  aware  that  Mr. 
Maddison's  arrest  was  as  much  of  a  surprise  to  us 
as  to  any  one.  We  neither  had  any  hand  in  it,  nor 
should  we  have  dreamed  of  taking  any  step  of  the 
sort." 

"  I  thought  it  could  not  be  you,"  she  answered. 
"  How  do  you  think  it  came  about  ?  " 

Mr.  Levy,  junior,  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Quite  in   the  ordinary  course,"  he  answered. 


244  THE   NEW   TENANT 

"  So  I  should  think.  The  police  have  never  let  the 
matter  really  drop,  and  I  should  imagine  that  he 
had  been  watched  for  some  time.  How  it  came  to 
pass,  however,  it  is  not  worth  while  discussing  now. 
The  question  with  you,  I  presume,  is — can  he  be 
saved  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,"  Helen  answered  quietly,  but 
with  deep  intensity.  "  Can  he  be  saved  ?  Do  you 
know  anything  ?  Can  you  help  ?  " 

Mr.  Benjamin  Levy  cleared  his  throat,  and  ap- 
peared to  reflect  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then  he 
turned  towards  Helen,  and  commenced  speaking 
earnestly. 

"  Look  here,  Miss  Thurwell,"  he  said,  "  your  in- 
terest in  this  matter  is,  of  course,  a  personal  one. 
Mine,  on  the  other  hand,  is  naturally  a  business  one. 
You  understand  that  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  that,"  she  said. 

"  Let  us  put  it  on  a  business  basis,  then,"  he  went 
on.  "  The  question  is,  what  will  you  give  us  to  get 
Mr.  Maddison  off?  That's  putting  it  baldly;  but 
we've  no  time  to  waste  mincing  matters." 

"  I  will  give  you  one — two  thousand  pounds,  if 
you  can  do  it,"  she  said,  her  voice  trembling  with 
eagerness.  "  Will  that  be  enough  ?  " 

"  Two  thousand  five  hundred — the  five  hundred 
for  expenses,"  Mr.  Benjamin  said  firmly.  "  Father, 
make  out  a  paper,  and  Miss  Thurwell  will  sign  it." 

"  At  once,"  she  answered,  drawing  off  her  glove. 
"Mr.  Levy,  you  have  some  hope !  You  know  some- 
thing. Tell  me  about  it,  please,"  she  begged. 

"  Miss  Thurwell,"  he  said,  "  at  present  I  can  tell 
you  no  more  than  this.  I  really  think  that  I  shall 
be  able  in  a  short  time  to  upset  the  whole  case 
against  Mr.  Maddison.  I  can't  tell  you  more  at 


THE   NEW   TENANT  245 

present.  Let  me  have  your  address,  and  you  shall 
hear  from  me." 

She  had  signed  her  name  to  the  document  which 
Mr.  Levy  had  drawn  up,  and  she  now  wrote  her 
address.  Mr.  Benjamin  copied  the  latter  into  his 
pocket-book,  and  prepared  to  show  his  visitor  out. 

"  I  really  don't  think  that  you  need  be  very 
anxious,  Miss  Thurwell,"  he  said  hopefully.  "  At 
present  things  look  bad  enough,  but  I  think  that 
when  the  time  comes,  I  shall  be  able  to  throw  a 
different  light  upon  them." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  answered,  dropping  her  veil. 
"  You  will  let  me  know  immediately  you  have 
definite  news  ?  " 

"  Immediately,  Miss  Thurwell.  You  may  rely 
upon  that.  Good-morning !  " 

He  closed  the  door  after  her,  and,  returning  to 
his  seat,  scribbled  something  on  a  piece  of  paper. 
Then  he  rang  the  bell. 

"  Is  Morrison  about  ?  "  he  asked  the  boy. 

"  Been  in  and  gone.  Round  at  the  Golden  Sun, 
if  wanted." 

"  Take  him  this  slip  of  paper,"  ordered  Benja- 
min, "  and  tell  him  to  keep  a  keen  watch  on  the 
person  whose  name  and  address  are  there.  Under- 
stand?" 

The  boy  nodded,  and  withdrew.  Then  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin looked  across  at  his  father. 

"  Well,  guv'nor  ?  "  he  remarked  laconically. 

"  Benjamin,"  his  fond  parent  replied  with  enthu- 
siasm, "  you  are  indeed  a  jewel  of  a  son." 

"  I  think  I  am,"  Benjamin  replied  modestly. 
"  Come  out  and  have  a  drink." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

BERNARD   A    PRISONER 

The  arrest  and  committal  of  Bernard  Maddison 
on  a  charge  of  murder  created  the  most  profound 
sensation  in  every  circle  of  English  society.  His 
work,  abstruse  and  scholarly  though  some  of  it 
was,  had  appealed  to  a  great  reading  public,  and 
had  made  his  name  like  a  household  word.  That 
long  deep  cry  for  a  larger  and  sweeter  culture  which 
had  been  amongst  the  signs  of  this  troubled  gene- 
ration, had  found  its  most  perfect  and  adequate 
expression  in  his  works.  He  had  been  at  once  its 
interpreter  and  its  guide.  There  were  thoughtful 
men  and  women,  a  great  mixed  class,  who,  in  their 
own  minds,  reckoned  themselves  as  his  apostles, 
and  acknowledged  no  other  intellectual  master. 
Some  were  of  the  highest  rank  of  society,  others  of 
the  very  lowest.  It  was  a  literary  republic  of  which 
he  had  been  the  unacknowledged  dictator,  contain- 
ing all  those  whose  eyes  had  been  in  any  way 
opened,  who  had  felt  stirring  even  faintly  within 
them  that  instinct  of  mind-development  and  expan- 
sion to  which  his  work  seemed  peculiarly  fitted  to 
minister.  And  so,  although  his  career  as  an  apostle 
of  culture  had  been  but  a  short  one,  he  was  already 
the  leader  of  a  school  whose  tenets  it  would  have 
been  a  heresy  to  modern  taste  to  doubt  or  question. 

The  news  of  this  tragical  event,  therefore,  fell 
like  a  thunderbolt  upon  society,  eclipsing1  every 

246 


THE   NEW   TENANT  247 

other  topic  in  the  newspapers,  in  conversation,  and 
general  interest.  The  first  instinct  of  every  one 
appeared  to  be  to  look  upon  the  whole  affair  as  a 
ludicrous  piece  of  mismanagement  on  the  part  of 
the  police,  and  Scotland  Yard  came  in  for  a  good 
deal  of  scathing  criticism,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases. 
But  when  the  evidence  before  the  magistrates  was 
carefully  read,  and  sundry  other  little  matters  dis- 
cussed, men's  tongues  began  to  run  less  glibly.  Of 
course  it  was  impossible  that  it  could  be  true;  and 
yet  the  evidence  was  certainly  strong.  In  the 
country  generally  the  first  impulse  of  generous  dis- 
belief was  followed  by  a  period  of  pained  and  re- 
served expectancy.  In  clubdom,  where  neither  fear 
of  the  devil  nor  love  of  God  had  yet  been  able  to 
keep  the  modern  man  of  the  world  from  discussing 
freely  any  subject  interesting  to  him,  a  gradual 
but  sure  reaction  against  the  possibilities  of  his 
innocence  set  in. 

There  were  plenty  of  men  about  still  who  re- 
membered Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,  and  the  peculiar 
manner  of  his  life.  During  his  long  absence  from 
England  there  had  been  many  rumors  about,  con- 
cerning its  reason,  and  now  these  were  all  suddenly 
revived.  The  breach  of  a  certain  commandment,  a 
duel  at  Boulogne,  and  many  other  similar  adven- 
tures were  freely  spoken  of.  After  all,  this  story, 
improbable  though  it  sounded,  was  far  from  im- 
possible. It  had  always  been  reckoned  a  little 
mysterious  that  nothing  whatever  had  been  known 
of  Bernard  Maddison's  antecedents,  great  though 
had  been  his  fame,  and  assiduous  his  interviewers. 
As  all  these  things  began  slowly  to  fit  themselves 
together,  men  commenced  to  look  grave,  and  to 
avoid  the  subject  in  the  presence  of  their  woman- 
kind, who  were  one  and  all  unswerving  in  their 


248  THE  NEW   TENANT 

loyalty  to  that  dear,  delightful  Bernard  Maddison, 
who  had  written  those  exquisite  books.  But  in  the 
smoking-room  and  among  themselves  views  were 
gradually  adopted  which  it  would  have  been  heresy 
to  avow  in  the  drawing-room. 

No  man  appeared  to  take  less  interest  in  the 
event  and  the  discussion  of  it  than  Sir  Allan  Beau- 
merville.  Known  generally  amongst  his  acquaint- 
ances as  a  cynic  and  pessimist,  men  were  pretty 
sure  what  his  opinion  would  be.  But  he  never 
expressed  it.  Whenever  he  strolled  up  to  any 
group  in  the  smoking-room  or  library  of  the  club, 
and  found  them  discussing  the  Maddison  murder 
case,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  another  way. 
If  it  were  broached  in  his  presence  it  was  the  signal 
for  his  retirement,  and  any  question  concerning  it 
he  refused  point-blank  to  answer.  Gradually  the 
idea  sprang  up,  and  began  to  circulate,  that  Sir 
Allan  Beaumerville  had  formed  an  idea  of  his  own 
concerning  the  Maddison  murder,  and  that  it  was 
one  which  he  intended  to  keep  to  himself.  Every 
one  was  curious  about  it,  but  in  the  face  of  his 
reticence,  no  one  cared  to  ask  him  what  it  was. 

A  plain  whitewashed  cell,  with  high  bare  walls 
and  tiny  window,  through  which  the  sunlight  could 
only  struggle  faintly.  Only  one  article  of  furniture 
which  could  justly  be  called  such,  a  rude  wooden 
bedstead,  and  seated  on  its  end  with  folded  arms 
and  bent  head,  like  a  man  in  some  sort  of  stupor, 
sat  Bernard  Maddison. 

He  was  in  that  most  pitiable  of  all  states,  when 
merciless  realization  had  driven  before  it  all  apathy, 
all  lingering  hope,  all  save  that  deadly  cold  sea 
of  absolute,  unutterable  despair.  There  had  been 
moments  on  his  first  arrival  here,  when  he  had 


THE  NEW   TENANT  249 

fallen  into  a  dozing  sleep,  and  had  leaped  up  from, 
his  hard  bed,  and  had  stretched  up  his  hands  above 
his  head,  and  had  called  out  in  agony  that  it  must 
be  a  dream,  a  hideous  nightmare  from  which  he 
would  awaken  only  to  look  back  upon  it  with 
horror.  And  then  his  glazed,  fearful  eyes  had 
slowly  taken  in  his  surroundings — the  stone  walls, 
the  cold  floor,  the  barred  window — and  pitiless 
memory  had  dragged  back  his  thoughts  amongst 
the  vivid  horrors  of  the  last  forty-eight  hours.  It 
was  all  there,  written  in  letters  of  fire.  He  shrunk 
back  upon  his  mattress  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  whilst  every  instinct  of  manliness  fought 
against  the  sobs  which  seemed  as  though  they 
would  rend  to  pieces  his  very  frame. 

Once  more  the  morning  light  had  come,  and  the 
burning  agony  of  the  hours  of  darkness  was  ex- 
changed for  the  cold,  crushing  despair  of  the  weary 
day.  They  had  brought  his  breakfast,  which  he 
had  loathed  and  left  untasted.  And  then,  as  he 
sat  there,  so  worn  out  with  physical  and  mental 
exhaustion,  something  of  a  dull  miserable  apathy 
acted  like  opium  on  his  wearied  nerves  and  brain. 
He  sat  there  thinking. 

The  great  passions  of  the  world  are  either  our 
sweetest  happiness  or  our  most  utter  misery.  Not 
unfrequently  the  one  becomes  the  other.  Circum- 
stances may  change,  but  the  force  remains,  some- 
times, after  yielding  us  the  most  exquisite  pleasure, 
to  lash  us  with  scorpion-like  whips.  The  love  of 
Bernard  Maddison  had  thrilled  through  heart  and 
soul — it  had  become  not  a  thing  of  his  life,  but  his 
whole  life.  Every  impulse  and  passion  of  his  being 
had  yielded  itself  up  to  it.  Ambition,  intellectual 
visions,  imaginative  fancies,  all  these  had  been 
not  indeed  driven  out  by  this  passion,  but  more 


250  THE   NEW   TENANT 

fatal  still,  they  had  opened  their  arms  to  receive  it, 
they  had  bidden  it  welcome,  and  heart  and  brain 
and  imagination  had  glowed  with  a  new  signifi- 
cance and  a  new-born  power.  A  lesser  love  would 
have  had  a  lesser  effect ;  it  would  have  made  rivals 
of  these  other  parts  of  himself.  Not  so  the  love  of 
Bernard  Maddison.  Every  fiber  of  his  deep,  strong 
nature  was  strengthened  and  beautified  by  this  new- 
kindled  fire.  At  that  moment,  had  he  been  free 
to  write,  he  would  have  been  conscious  of  a  ca- 
pacity beyond  any  which  he  had  ever  before  pos- 
sessed. For  a  great  nature  is  perfected  by  a  great 
love,  as  the  blossoms  of  spring  by  the  April  showers 
and  May  sun.  The  dry  dust  of  scholarship  some- 
times chokes  up  the  well  of  fancy.  The  perfect 
humanity  of  love  acts  like  a  sweet,  quickening  im- 
pulse upon  it,  breathing  sweet  soft  life  into  dry 
images,  and  rich  coloring  into  pallid  visions.  Such 
love,  which  is  at  once  spiritual  and  passionate,  of 
heaven  and  of  the  earth,  absorbing  and  concentra- 
tive,  widening  and  narrowing,  is  to  a  man's  nature, 
if  he  be  strong  enough  to  conceive  and  appreciate 
it,  the  very  food,  the  essence  of  sublimated  life. 

To  Bernard  Maddison  it  had  been  so.  To  its 
very  depths  he  realized  it  as  he  sat  in  his  prison 
cell  with  something  of  the  deep  passive  resignation 
of  the  man  who  stands  with  one  foot  in  the  grave. 
The  latter  part  of  his  life — nay,  the  whole  of  it — had 
been  full  of  noble  dreams  and  pure  thoughts.  His 
genius  had  never  run  riot  over  the  whole  face  of 
nature,  to  yield  its  fruits  in  a  sickly  sweet  realism 
with  only  faint  flashes  of  his  deeper  power.  Always 
subordinated  by  the  innate  and  cultured  healthiness 
of  his  mind,  he  had  sent  it  forth  a  living  power  for 
good.  Great  joy  had  been  his  as  he  had  watched 
his  message  to  the  world  listened  to,  and  under- 


THE  NEW  TENANT  251 

stood,  and  appreciated.  Another  age  might  wit- 
ness its  fruits,  it  was  sufficient  for  him  that  the  seed 
was  rightly  planted. 

Oh,  the  horror  of  it — the  burning,  unspeakable 
horror!  In  his  ears  there  seemed  to  come  ringing 
from  the  world  without  the  great  hum  of  gossip  and 
lies  which  were  dragging  his  name  down  into  hell. 
A  murderer!  The  time  might  come  when  she  too 
would  think  thus  of  him,  when  the  tragedy  of  her 
first  love  might  fade  away,  and  the  lovelight  might 
flash  again  in  her  eyes,  but  not  for  him.  He  shook 
his  head  wildly,  stretched  out  his  hands  as  though 
to  hide  something  from  his  quivering  face,  and 
barely  suppressed  the  groan  of  deep  agony  which 
trembled  on  his  lips.  God  in  His  mercy  keep  him 
from  such  thoughts!  Death,  disgrace,  surpassing 
humiliation,  let  them  float  in  their  ghostly  garments 
before  his  shuddering  gaze,  but  keep  that  thought 
from  him,  for  with  it  madness  moved  hand  in  hand. 
As  Michael  Angelo  had  stifled  his  grief  at  Vittoria 
Colonna's  death,  in  the  sweet  hope  of  rejoining  her 
as  soon  as  the  last  lingering  breath  should  leave 
his  mortal  body,  and  as  Dante  had  hoped  for  his 
Beatrice,  so  let  him  think  of  the  woman  without 
whom  no  human  life  was  possible  for  him,  almost,  he 
cried  out  in  his  agony,  no  spiritual  hope  or  longing. 

The  sound  of  the  key  in  the  lock  of  his  door,  and 
the  tramp  of  footsteps  on  the  stone  floor  outside, 
awoke  him  with  a  start  from  his  half-dreaming 
state.  The  thought  of  visitors  being  permitted  to 
come  had  never  occurred  to  him,  nor  did  it  even 
then.  The  footsteps  had  paused  outside  his  door, 
but  he  felt  no  interest  in  them,  nor  ever  the  vaguest 
stirrings  of  curiosity.  Then  the  harsh  lock  was 
turned  with  a  grating  sound,  and  two  figures,  fol- 
lowed by  the  prison  warder,  entered  the  room. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 
"THERE  is  MY  HAND.    DARE  YOU  TAKE  IT?" 

THERE  is  nothing  which  can  transport  one  so 
quickly  from  thoughtland  to  acute  and  comprehen- 
sive realization,  as  the  sound  of  a  human  voice  or 
the  consciousness  of  a  human  presence.  Like  a 
flash  it  all  came  back  to  the  lonely  occupant  of  the 
prison  cell — the  personal  degradation  of  his  posi- 
tion, his  surroundings,  and  everything  connected 
with  them.  And  with  it,  too,  came  a  strong,  keen 
desire  to  bear  himself  like  a  man  before  her  father. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  the  pitiful  bareness  of 
the  place  seemed  to  become  suddenly  enhanced  by 
the  quiet  dignity  of  his  demeanor.  Out  of  the 
gloom  Mr.  Thurwell  came  forward  with  out- 
stretched hand,  followed  by  another  gentleman — a 
stranger.  Between  the  two  men,  that  one  long  ray 
of  sunlight  lay  across  the  stone  floor,  and  as  Ber- 
nard Maddison  stepped  forward  to  meet  his  visitor, 
it  gleamed  for  a  moment  upon  his  white,  haggard 
face,  worn  and  stricken,  yet  retaining  all  that  quiet 
force  and  delicacy  of  expression  which  seemed  like 
the  index  of  his  inward  life.  It  was  the  face  of  a 
poet,  of  a  dreamer,  a  visionary  perhaps — but  a 
criminal!  the  thing  seemed  impossible. 

"  This  is  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Thurwell,"  he 
said  in  a  low  but  clear  tone.  "  I  scarcely  expected 
that  I  should  be  permitted  to  see  visitors." 

Mr.  Thurwell  grasped  his  hand,  and  held  it  for  a 
252 


THE  NEW  TENANT  253 

moment  without  speaking.  He  had  all  an  English- 
man's reticence  of  speech  in  times  of  great  emotion, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  nothing  that  he 
could  say.  But  silence  was  very  eloquent. 

"  I  have  brought  Mr.  Dewes  with  me,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  He  wants  to  see  you  about  the  defence,  you 
know.  The  high  sheriff's  a  friend  of  mine,  so  I  got 
him  to  pass  me  in  at  the  same  time;  but  if  you'd 
rather  see  Dewes  alone,  you'll  say  so,  won't  you?  " 

There  had  been  an  acute  nervous  force  working 
in  Bernard  Maddison's  face  during  that  brief  si- 
lence. At  Mr.  Thurwell's  words,  a  change  came. 
He  dropped  his  visitor's  hand,  and  his  features  were 
still  and  cold  as  marble,  and  almost  as  expression- 
less, save  for  the  lightly  drawn  lips,  and  lowered 
eyebrows,  which  gave  to  his  expression  a  fixed  look 
of  power. 

"  That  is  very  kind  and  thoughtful  of  you,  Mr. 
Thurwell,  and  I  am  sorry  that  you  should  have  had 
the  trouble  to  no  purpose.  I  have  nothing  to  add  to 
my  previous  decision.  I  will  not  be  represented  by 
either  lawyer  or  counsel." 

Mr.  Dewes  moved  forward  out  of  the  back- 
ground, and  bowed.  He  was  a  handsome,  middle- 
aged  man,  looking  more  like  a  cavalry  officer  than 
a  solicitor.  But,  as  everyone  knew,  so  far  as  crimi- 
nal cases  were  concerned,  he  was  the  cleverest  law- 
yer in  London. 

'  You  are  relying  upon  your  innocence,  of  course, 
Mr.  Maddison,"  he  said ;  "  but  it  is  a  very  great  mis- 
take to  suppose  that  it  will  establish  itself  without 
extraneous  aid.  You  will  have  the  Attorney-Gen- 
eral against  you,  and  you  must  have  some  one  of 
the  same  caliber  on  your  side.  The  old  saying, 
'  Truth  will  out,'  does  not  apply  in  an  assize  court. 
It  requires  to  be  dragged  out.  I  think  you  will  do 


254  THE   NEW  TENANT 

well  to  accept  my  services.  Roberts  holds  himself 
open  to  take  the  brief  for  your  defence,  if  I  wire 
him  before  midday." 

"  I  seldom  change  my  mind,"  Bernard  Maddison 
said  quietly.  "  In  the  present  case  I  shall  not  do  so. 
If  it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  anything  which 
should  be  said  on  my  behalf,  I  shall  say  it  myself." 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Mr.  Dewes  looked 
at  Mr.  Thurwell,  and  Mr.  Thurwell  looked  both 
perplexed  and  worried. 

"  Maddison,  you  must  admit  that  yours  is  an 
extraordinary  decision,"  he  said  at  last.  "  You 
must  forgive  me  if  I  ask  you  in  plain  words  what 
your  reason  is  for  it.  I  ask  as  one  who  is  willing  to 
be  your  friend  in  this  matter;  and  I  ask  you  as 
Helen's  father." 

A  sudden  spasm  of  pain  passed  across  Bernard 
Maddison's  face.  He  shrunk  back  a  little,  and  when 
he  spoke  his  voice  sounded  hollow  and  strained. 

"  I  do  not  deny  you  the  right  to  ask — but  I  can- 
not tell  you.  Simply  it  is  my  will.  It  is  best  so.  It 
must  be  so." 

"Can  you  not  see,  Mr.  Maddison,"  the  lawyer 
said  quietly,  "  that  to  some  people  this  will  seem 
almost  like  a  tacit  admission  of  guilt?" 

"  I  shall  plead  '  not  guilty,'  "  he  answered  in  a 
low  tone. 

"That  will  be  looked  upon  only  as  a  matter  of 
form,"  Mr.  Dewes  remarked.  "  Mr.  Maddison,  I 
should  not  be  doing  my  duty  if  I  did  not  point  out 
to  you  that  the  evidence  against  you  is  terribly 
strong.  Just  consider  it  yourself,  only  for  a  mo- 
ment. Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  is  known  to  have 
seriously  wronged  a  member  of  your  family.  You 
are  known  to  have  sworn  an  oath  of  vengeance 
against  him.  There  are  witnesses  coming  from 


THE   NEW   TENANT  255 

abroad  to  prove  that.  Immediately  on  his  return 
to  his  home  you  take  a  cottage,  under  an  assumed 
name,  close  to  his  estate.  He  is  found  murdered 
close  to  that  cottage,  of  which  it  seems  that  at 
that  time  you  were  the  only  occupant.  You  are 
the  only  person  known  to  have  been  near  the  spot. 
The  dagger  is  proved  to  be  yours.  Letters  are 
found  in  your  cabinet  urging  you  to  desist  from 
your  threatened  vengeance.  There  is  the  stain  of 
blood  on  the  floor  of  your  study,  near  the  place 
where  you  would  have  washed  your  hands,  and  a 
blood-stained  towel  is  found  hidden  in  the  room. 
All  this  and  more  can  be  proved,  and  unless  you  can 
throw  a  fresh  light  upon  these  things,  there  is  no 
jury  in  the  world  that  would  not  find  you  guilty. 
You  hold  your  fate  in  your  own  hands." 

"  I  have  considered  all  this,"  Bernard  Maddison 
answered  in  a  low  tone.  "  I  know  that  my  case  is 
almost  hopeless,  and  I  am  prepared  for  the  worst." 

Mr.  Thurwell  turned  away,  and  walked  to  the 
furthermost  corner  of  the  apartment.  For  his 
daughter's  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  his  own  strong 
liking  for  this  man,  he  had  resolutely  shut  his  eyes 
upon  the  damning  chain  of  evidence  against  him. 
Now  he  felt  that  that  he  could  do  so  no  longer. 
Nothing  but  guilt  could  account  for  this  strange 
reticence.  He  was  forced  to  admit  it  at  last.  His 
compassion  was  still  strong,  but  it  was  mingled  with 
a  great  horror.  He  felt  that  he  must  get  away  as 
soon  as  possible. 

Mr.  Dewes,  who  had  all  along  had  the  most  pro- 
found conviction  of  the  guilt  of  the  accused  man 
seized  his  opportunity,  and  stepping  close  up  to 
him,  whispered  in  his  ear : 

"  Mr.  Maddison,  I  should  like  to  save  you  if  I 
can.  There  have  been  cases — forgive  me  for  sug- 


256  THE   NEW  TENANT 

gesting  it — in  which,  by  knowing  every  circum- 
stance and  trifling  detail  connected  with  a  crime, 
we  have  been  able  to  build  up  a  def " 

Bernard  Maddison  drew  himself  up  with  a  sud- 
den hauteur,  and  raised  his  hand. 

"  Stop,  Mr.  Dewes !  "  he  said  firmly.  "  I  do  not 
blame  you  for  assuming  what  you  do,  but  you  are 
mistaken.  I  am  not  guilty.  I  do  not  ask  you  to 
believe  it.  I  only  ask  you  to  bring  this  painful  in- 
terview to  an  end." 

"  We  will  go/'  said  Mr.  Thurwell,  suddenly  ad- 
vancing from  the  other  end  of  the  cell.  "  I  am  not 
your  judge,  Bernard  Maddison,  and  it  is  not  for  me 
to  hold  you  guilty.  God  shall  pass  His  own  judg- 
ment upon  you.  There  is  my  hand.  Dare  you  take 
it?" 

For  answer,  Bernard  Maddison  stepped  forward 
and  clasped  it  in  his  own.  Once  more  he  had  moved 
from  out  of  the  darkness,  and  a  soft  stream  of  sun- 
shine fell  upon  his  pallid  face.  White  though  it 
was,  even  to  ghastliness,  it  betrayed  no  sign  of 
blanching  or  fear,  and  his  dark  eyes,  from  their 
hollow  depths,  shone  with  a  clear,  steadfast  light. 
Once  more  its  calm  spirituality,  the  effortless  force 
which  seemed  to  lurk  in  every  line  and  feature  of 
the  pale  wasted  countenance,  had  its  effect  upon 
Mr.  Thurwell.  He  wrung  the  hand  which  it  had 
cost  him  a  suppressed  effort  to  take,  and  for  the 
moment  his  doubts  faded  away. 

"  God  help  you,  Maddison !  "  he  said  fervently. 
"  Shall  I  tell  her  anything  from  you?  " 

A  faint  smile  parted  his  tremulous  lips.  At  that 
moment  he  was  beyond  earthly  suffering.  A  sweet, 
strong  power  had  filled  his  heart  with  peace. 

"  Tell  her  not  to  grieve,  and  that  I  am  innocent," 
he  said  softly.  "  Farewell !  " 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

MR.    BENJAMIN   LEVY   IS   BUSY 

A  WOMAN  stood  on  the  little  stone  piazza,  of  that 
Italian  villa,  with  her  face  raised  in  agony  to  the 
blue  sky,  and  her  thin  white  hands  wrung  together 
with  frantic  nervous  strength.  Her  whole  attitude 
was  full  of  the  hopeless  abandonment  of  a  great 
tearless  grief;  and  slowly  dawning  passion,  long  a 
stranger  to  her  calm  face,  was  creeping  into  her 
features.  On  the  ground,  spurned  beneath  her  feet, 
was  a  long  official-looking  letter  and  envelope.  A 
thunderbolt  had  flashed  down  upon  the  sweet  still- 
ness of  her  serene  life. 

She  was  quite  alone,  and  she  looked  out  upon 
an  unbroken  solitude — that  fair  neglected  garden 
with  its  high  walls  which  seemed  to  give  it  an  air 
of  peculiar  exclusiveness. 

"  I  will  not  go,"  she  said,  speaking  quickly  to 
herself  in  an  odd,  uneven  tone.  "  The  law  of  Eng- 
land shall  not  make  me.  I  am  an  old  woman.  If 
they  do,  they  cannot  open  my  lips.  I !  to  stand  up 
in  one  of  their  courts,  and  tell  the  story  of  my 
shame,  that  they  may  listen  and  condemn  my  son. 
Oh,  Bernard,  Bernard,  Bernard!  The  Lord  have 
mercy  upon  you  for  this  your  crime!  Mine  was 
the  sin.  Mine  should  be  the  guilt.  Oh,  my  God, 
my  God !  Is  this  just,  in  my  old  age,  to  pour  down 
this  fire  of  punishment  upon  my  bowed  head  ?  Have 
I  not  suffered  and  done  penance — ay,  until  I  had 

257 


258  THE   NEW  TENANT 

even  thought  that  I  had  won  for  myself  peace  and 
rest  and  forgiveness?  Was  it  a  sin  to  think  so? 
Is  this  my  punishment?  Oh,  Bernard,  my  son,  my 
son !  Let  not  the  sin  be  his,  O  Lord.  It  is  mine — 
mine  only !  " 

Sweet  perfumes  were  floating  upon  the  soft  still 
air,  and  away  on  the  hill  sides  the  morning  mists 
were  rolling  away.  The  sun's  warmth  fell  upon 
the  earth  and  the  flowers,  and  birds  and  humming 
insects  were  glad.  And  in  the  midst  of  it  all  she 
stood  there,  a  silent,  stony  figure,  grief  and  anguish 
and  despair  written  in  her  worn  face.  God  was 
dealing  very  hardly  with  her,  she  cried  in  her 
agony.  Truly  sin  was  everlasting. 

"  Signorina ! " 

She  turned  round  with  a  start.  A  servant  girl 
stood  by  her  side  with  a  card  on  a  salver. 

"  A  gentleman  to  see  the  signorina,"  she  an- 
nounced ;  "  an  English  gentleman." 

The  woman  turned  pale  with  fear,  and  her  fin- 
gers trembled.  She  would  not  even  glance  at  the 
name  on  the  card. 

"  Tell  him  that  I  see  no  one.  I  am  ill.  I  will 
not  see  him,  be  his  business  what  it  may.  Do  you 
hear,  child?  Go  and  send  him  away." 

The  girl  curtsied  and  disappeared.  Her  mistress 
stepped  back  into  the  room,  and  listened  fearfully. 
Soon  there  came  what  she  had  dreaded,  the  sound 
of  an  altercation.  She  could  hear  Nicolette  pro- 
testing in  her  shrill  patois,  and  a  rather  vulgar,  but 
very  determined  English  voice,  vigorously  asserting 
itself.  Then  there  came  the  sound  of  something 
almost  like  a  scuffle,  and  Nicolette  came  running  in 
with  red  eyes. 

"  Signorina,  the  brute,  the  brute !  "  she  cried ;  "  he 
will  come  in.  He  dared  to  lay  his  hands  upon  me. 


THE  NEW  TENANT  259 

See,  he  is  here!  Oh,  that  Marco  had  been  in  the 
house!  He  should  have  beaten  him,  the  dog,  the 
coward,  to  oppose  a  woman's  will  by  force !  " 

While  she  had  been  sobbing  out  her  complaint, 
her  assailant  had  followed  up  his  advantage,  and 
Mr.  Benjamin  Levy,  in  a  rather  loud,  check  suit, 
and  with  a  cringing  air,  but  with  a  certain  dogged 
determination  in  his  manner,  appeared.  Mrs.  Mar- 
tival  turned  to  him  with  quiet  dignity,  but  with 
flashing  eyes. 

"  Sir,  by  what  right  do  you  dare  to  enter  my 
house  by  force,  and  against  my  command?  I  will 
not  speak  with  you  or  know  your  business.  I  will 
have  no  communication  with  you." 

"  Then  your  son  will  be  hanged !  "  Mr.  Benjamin 
said,  with  unaccustomed  bluntness. 

Mrs.  Martival  trembled,  and  sank  into  a  chair. 
Mr.  Benjamin  followed  up  his  advantage. 

"  I  am  not  from  the  police.  I  have  no  connection 
with  them.  On  the  other  hand,  I  am  considerably 
interested  in  saving  your  son,  and  I  tell  you  that 
I  can  put  into  your  hands  the  means  of  doing  so. 
Now,  will  you  listen  to  me  ?  " 

Something  in  Mrs.  Martival's  face  checked  him. 
The  features  had  suddenly  become  rigid,  and  an 
ashy  pallor  had  stolen  over  them.  Nicolette,  who 
had  been  lingering  in  the  room,  suddenly  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  beside  her  mistress's  side,  and 
caught  hold  of  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  the  wretch ! "  she  cried,  "  the  miserable 
wretch ;  he  has  killed  my  mistress ! " 

He  stood  helplessly  by  while  she  ran  backwards 
and  forwards  with  cold  water,  smelling  salts,  and 
other  restoratives,  keeping  up  all  the  while  a  run- 
ning fire  of  scathing  comments  upon  his  heartless 
conduct,  of  which,  needless  to  say,  he  understood 


260  THE   NEW  TENANT 

not  a  single  word.  Beneath  his  breath  he  cursed 
this  unlucky  fainting  fit.  He  had  already  lost  a 
day  on  the  way,  and  the  time  was  short.  What  if 
she  were  to  be  ill — too  ill  to  be  moved!  The  very 
thought  made  him  restless  and  uneasy. 

In  the  midst  of  the  confusion  Mrs.  Martival's 
housekeeper  returned  from  her  marketing  in  the 
little  town,  and  to  his  relief  he  found  that  she  un- 
derstood English.  He  interrupted  Nicolette's  shrill 
torrents  of  abuse  against  him,  and  briefly  explained 
the  situation. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  force  myself  upon  her,"  he 
said.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  be  troublesome  in  any 
way.  But  when  she  is  conscious,  I  want  you  just 
to  show  her  half  a  dozen  words  which  I  will  write 
on  the  back  of  a  card.  If,  when  she  has  read  them, 
she  still  wishes  me  to  go,  I  will  do  so  without  at- 
tempting to  see  her  again." 

The  woman  nodded. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said ;  "  wait  outside." 

He  left  the  room  and  walked  softly  up  and  down 
the  passage,  eyeing  with  some  contempt  the  rich 
faded  curtains  and  quaint  artistic  furniture  about 
the  place,  so  unlike  the  gilded  glories  of  his  own 
taste.  In  about  half  an  hour  the  housekeeper  came 
out  to  him. 

"  She  is  conscious  now,"  she  said ;  "  give  me  your 
message." 

He  gave  her  a  card  on  which  he  had  already  pen- 
ciled a  few  words,  and  waited,  terribly  anxious, 
for  the  result.  The  woman  withdrew,  and  closed 
the  door.  For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Then  a 
wild,  fierce  cry  rang  out  from  the  room  and  echoed 
through  the  house.  Before  it  had  died  away  the 
door  was  flung  open,  and  she  stood  on  the  threshold, 
her  white  hair  streaming  down  her  back,  and  every 


THE   NEW  TENANT  261 

vestige  of  color  gone  from  her  face.  Her  eyes,  too, 
shone  with  a  feverish  glow  which  fascinated  him. 

"  Is  it  you  who  wrote  this?"  she  cried,  holding 
up  the  card  clenched  in  her  trembling  lingers.  "  If 
you  are  a  man,  tell  me,  is  it  true  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it  is,"  he  answered.  "  In  my  own 
mind,  I  am  certain  that  it  is.  You  are  the  only 
person  who  can  prove  it.  I  want  you  to  come  to 
England  with  me." 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  said.    "  When  can  we  start?  " 

He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  I  will  be  here  in  half  an  hour  with  a  carriage," 
he  said.  "  If  we  can  get  over  the  hills  by  midday, 
we  shall  catch  the  express." 

"  Go,  then,"  she  said  calmly ;  "  I  shall  be  waiting 
for  you." 

He  hurried  away,  and  soon  returned  with  a  car- 
riage from  the  inn.  In  less  than  an  hour  they  had 
commenced  their  journey  to  England. 


It  was  an  early  summer  evening  in  Mayfair,  and 
Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  stood  on  the  balcony  of  his 
bijou  little  house,  for  which  he  had  lately  deserted 
the  more  stately  family  mansion  in  Grosvenor 
Square.  There  was  a  soft  pleasant  stillness  in  the 
air,  and  a  gentle  rustling  of  green  leaves  among 
the  trees.  The  streets  below  were  almost  blocked 
with  streams  of  carriages  and  hansoms,  for  the 
season  was  not  yet  over,  and  it  was  fast  approach- 
ing the  fashionable  dinner  hour.  Overhead,  in 
somewhat  curious  contrast,  the  stars  were  shining 
in  a  deep  cloudless  sky,  and  a  golden-horned  moon 
hung  down  in  the  west. 

Sir  Allan  was  himself  dressed  for  the  evening, 
with  an  orchid  in  his  buttonhole,  and  a  light  over- 


262  THE   NEW  TENANT 

coat  on  his  arm.  In  the  street,  his  night  brougham, 
with  its  pair  of  great  thoroughbred  horses,  stood 
waiting.  Yet  he  made  no  movement  toward  it. 
He  did  not  appear  to  be  waiting  for  anyone,  nor 
was  he  watching  the  brilliant  throng  passing  west- 
ward. His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  vacancy,  and 
there  was  a  certain  steadfast,  rapt  look  in  them 
which  altered  his  expression  curiously.  Sir  Allan 
Beaumerville  seldom  used  his  powers  of  reflection 
save  for  practical  purposes.  Just  then,  however, 
he  was  departing  from  his  usual  custom.  Strange 
ghosts  of  a  strange  past  were  flitting  through  his 
mind.  Old  passions,  which  had  long  lain  undis- 
turbed, were  sweeping  through  him,  old  dreams 
were  revived,  old  memories  kindled  once  more 
smoldering  fires,  and  aided  at  the  resurrection  of  a 
former  self.  The  cold  man-of-the-world  philosophy, 
which  had  ruled  his  life  for  many  years,  seemed 
suddenly  conquered  by  this  upheaval  of  a  stormy 
past.  Under  the  influence  of  the  serene  night,  the 
starlit  sky,  and  the  force  of  these  old  memories,  he 
seemed  to  realize  more  than  he  had  ever  done  be- 
fore the  littleness  of  his  life,  its  colorless  egotism, 
the  barrenness  of  its  routine.  Like  a  flash  it  stood 
glaringly  out  before  him.  Stripped  of  all  its  intel- 
lectual furbishing,  the  chill  selfishness  of  the  creed 
he  had  adopted  struck  home  to  his  heart.  A  finite 
life,  with  a  finite  goal — annihilation!  Had  it  really 
ever  satisfied  him?  Could  it  satisfy  anyone?  A 
great  weariness  crept  in  upon  him.  Epicureanism 
could  have  been  carried  no  further  than  he  had 
carried  it.  He  had  steeped  his  senses  in  the  most 
refined  and  voluptuous  pleasures  civilization  had  to 
offer  him.  Where  was  the  afterglow  ?  Was  this  all 
that  remained?  A  palled  appetite,  a  hungry  heart, 
and  a  cold,  chill  despair!  What  comfort  could  his 


THE   NEW   TENANT  263 

much-studied  philosophy  afford  him?  It  had  satis- 
fied the  brain;  had  it  nothing  to  offer  the  heart? 
Something  within  him  seemed  to  repeat  the  word 
with  a  grim  echo.  Nothing!  nothing!  nothing! 

What  was  it  that  caused  his  eyes  to  droop  till 
they  rested  upon  two  figures  on  the  opposite  pave- 
ment? He  could  not  tell  whence  the  power,  and 
yet  he  obeyed  the  impulse.  They  glanced  over  the 
man  with  indifference  and  met  the  woman's  up- 
turned gize.  And  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  stood 
like  a  figure  of  stone,  with  a  deathlike  pallor  in  his 
marble  face. 

The  stream  of  carriages  swept  on,  and  the  motley 
crowds  of  men  and  women  passed  on  their  way 
unnoticing.  Little  they  knew  that  a  tragedy  was 
being  played  out  before  their  very  eyes.  A  few  no- 
ticed that  stately  white-haired  lady  gazing  strangely 
at  the  house  across  the  way,  and  a  few  too  saw  the 
figure  of  the  man  on  whom  her  eyes  were  bent.  But 
no  one  could  read  what  passed  between  them.  That 
lay  in  their  own  hearts. 

Interruption  came  at  last.  Mr.  Benjamin  Levy's 
excitement  mastered  his  patience.  He  asked  the 
question  which  had  been  trembling  on  his  lips. 

"Is  it  he?" 

She  started,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder 
for  support.  She  was  very  much  shaken. 

"  Yes.  See,  he  is  beckoning.  He  wants  me.  I 
shall  go  to  him.  May  God  give  me  strength !  " 

She  moved  forward  to  cross  the  road.  He  caught 
hold  of  her  arm  in  sudden  fear. 

"  You  mustn't  think  of  it,"  he  exclaimed.  "  You 
will  spoil  everything.  I  want  you  to  come  with 
me  to —  D — n!  Come  back,  I  say;  come  back! 
Curse  the  woman !  " 

He  stood  on  the  pavement,  fuming.     She  had 


264  THE   NEW  TENANT 

glided  from  his  grasp,  and  his  words  had  fallen 
upon  deaf  ears.  Already  she  was  half  across  the 
road.  The  door  of  Sir  Allan's  house  stood  open, 
and  a  servant  was  hurrying  down  to  meet  her.  At 
that  moment  Mr.  Benjamin  Levy  felt  distinctly  ill- 
used. 

"  D — d  old  fool !  "  he  muttered  to  himself  an- 
grily. "  Hi,  hansom,  Scotland  Yard,  and  drive  like 
blazes!  The  game's  getting  exciting,  at  any  rate," 
he  added.  "  It  was  mine  easy  before  that  last  move ; 
now  it's  a  blessed  toss  up  which  way  it  goes.  Well, 
I'll  back  my  luck.  I  rather  reckon  I  stand  to  win 
still,  if  Miss  Thurwell  acts  on  the  square." 


CHAPTER   XL 

A    STRANGE   BIRTHDAY   PARTY 

IT  was  close  upon  midnight,  and  one  of  the  oldest 
and  most  exclusive  of  West-end  clubs  was  in  a  state 
of  great  bustle  and  excitement.  Sir  Allan  Beaumer- 
ville  was  giving  a  supper  party  to  his  friends  to 
celebrate  his  sixtieth  birthday,  and  the  guests  were 
all  assembled. 

Sir  Allan  himself  was  the  last  to  arrive.  The 
final  touches  had  been  given  to  the  brilliantly  deco- 
rated supper  table,  and  the  chef,  who  had  done  his 
best  for  the  greatest  connoisseur  and  the  most  lib- 
eral member  in  the  club,  had  twice  looked  at  his 
watch.  As  midnight  struck,  however,  Sir  Allan's 
great  black  horses  turned  into  Pall  Mall,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  he  was  quietly  welcoming  his  guests, 
and  leading  the  way  into  the  room  which  had  been 
reserved  for  the  occasion. 

As  a  rule  men  are  not  quick  at  noticing  one  an- 
other's looks,  but  to-night  more  than  one  person 
remarked  upon  a  certain  change  in  their  host's  ap- 
pearance. 

"  Beaumerville's  getting  quite  the  old  man,"  re- 
marked Lord  Lathon,  as  he  helped  himself  to  an 
ortolan.  "  Looks  jolly  white  about  the  gills  to- 
night, doesn't  he?" 

His  neighbor,  a  barrister  and  wearer  of  the  silk, 
adjusted  his  eye-glass  and  looked  down  the  table. 

"  Gad,  he  does ! "  he  answered.  "  Looks  as 
though  he's  had  a  shock." 

265 


266  THE  NEW  TENANT 

"  Not  at  all  in  his  usual  form,  at  any  rate,"  put 
in  Mr.  Thurwell,  sotto  voce,  from  the  other  side  of 
the  table. 

"  Queer  thing,  but  he  seems  to  remind  me  of 
some  one  to-night,"  Lord  Lathon  remarked  to  the 
Home  Secretary,  who  was  on  the  other  side. 
"  Can't  remember  who  it  is,  though.  It's  some  fel- 
low who's  in  a  devil  of  a  scrape,  I  know.  Who  the 
mischief  is  it  ?  " 

"  You  mean  Maddison,  don't  you  ?  "  Sir  Philip 
Roden  answered.  "  Plenty  of  people  have  noticed 
that.  There  is  a  likeness,  certainly." 

"  By  Jove,  there  is,  though !  "  Lord  Lathon  as- 
sented ;  "  I  never  noticed  it  before.  I'm  devilish 
sorry  for  Maddison,  Roden,  and  I  hope  you  won't 
let  them  hang  him." 

The  conversation  turned  upon  the  Maddison  case 
and  became  general.  Everybody  had  something  to 
say  about  it  except  Sir  Allan.  He  himself,  it  was 
noticed,  forbore  to  pass  any  opinion  at  all,  and  at 
the  first  opportunity  he  diverted  the  talk  into  an- 
other channel. 

The  quality  of  his  guests  spoke  volumes  for  the 
social  position  and  popularity  of  their  entertainer. 
Probably  there  were  not  half  a  dozen  men  in  Lon- 
don who  could  have  got  together  so  brilliant  and 
select  an  assembly.  There  were  only  twenty,  but 
every  man  was  a  man  of  note.  Politics  were  rep- 
resented by  the  Home  Secretary,  Sir  Philip  Roden, 
and  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury;  the  peerage 
by  the  Duke  of  Leicester  and  the  Earl  of  Lathon. 
There  were  two  judges,  and  a  half  a  dozen  Q.C.'s, 
the  most  popular  novelist  of  the  day,  and  the  most 
renowned  physician.  A  prince  might  have  enter- 
tained such  a  company  with  honor. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  the  advent  of  cigars 


THE  NEW  TENANT  267 

should  be  the  signal  for  the  Duke  of  Leicester  to 
rise  and  propose  their  host's  health.  But  to  the 
surprise  of  every  one,  whilst  his  grace  was  prepar- 
ing for  the  ordeal,  and  was  on  the  point  of  rising, 
Sir  Allan  himself  slowly  rose  to  his  feet,  with  a  look 
in  his  still,  cold  face  so  different  from  anything 
that  might  be  expected  of  a  man  who  rises  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  after  a  capital  supper  to 
make  a  speech  to  his  guests,  that  every  one's  atten- 
tion was  at  once  arrested. 

"  I  am  given  to  understand,  gentlemen,"  he  said 
slowly,  "  that  his  grace  the  Duke  of  Leicester  was 
about  to  propose  my  health  on  your  behalf.  I  rise 
to  prevent  this  for  two  reasons.  First,  because  to 
a  dying  man  such  a  toast  could  only  be  a  mockery; 
the  second  reason  will  be  sufficiently  apparent  when 
I  have  said  what  I  have  to  say  to  you." 

Every  one  was  stupefied.  Had  their  host  sud- 
denly gone  mad,  or  had  those  empty  bottles  of  Heid- 
seck  which  had  just  been  removed  from  his  end  of 
the  table  anything  to  do  with  it  ?  Several  murmurs 
for  an  explanation  arose. 

"  I  had  forgotten  for  the  moment,"  Sir  Allan  con- 
tinued, "  that  none  of  you  are  yet  aware  of  what  I 
have  only  known  myself  during  the  last  few  days. 
I  am  suffering  from  acute  heart  disease,  which  may 
terminate  fatally  at  any  moment." 

A  sudden  awed  gloom  fell  upon  the  party.  Cigars 
were  put  down,  and  shocked  glances  exchanged.  A 
murmur  of  condolence  arose,  but  Sir  Allan  checked 
it  with  a  little  gesture. 

"  I  need  scarcely  say  that  I  did  not  ask  you  to 
meet  me  here  this  evening  to  tell  you  this,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  My  object  is  a  different  one.  I  have  a 
confession  to  make." 

The  general  bewilderment  increased.    The  air  of 


268  THE  NEW  TENANT 

festivity  was  replaced  by  a  dull  restrained  silence. 
Could  it  be  that  their  host's  illness  had  affected  his 
brain?  A  painful  impression  to  that  effect  had 
passed  into  the  minds  of  more  than  one  of  them. 

"  You  will  say,  perhaps,"  Sir  Allan  continued, 
speaking  very  slowly,  and  with  a  certain  difficulty 
in  his  articulation,  which  did  not,  however,  prevent 
every  word  from  being  distinctly  audible,  "  that  I 
am  choosing  a  strange  time  and  place  for  making  a 
personal  statement.  But  I  see  amongst  those  who 
have  done  me  the  honor  of  becoming  my  guests 
to-night,  men  whom  I  should  wish  to  know  the 
whole  truth  from  my  own  lips — I  prefer  more  par- 
ticularly to  you,  Sir  Philip  Roden — and  to-night  is 
my  last  opportunity,  for  to-morrow  all  London  will 
know  my  story,  and  I  shall  be  banned  forever  from 
all  converse  and  intercourse  with  my  fellow-men. 

"  Very  few  words  will  tell  my  story.  Most  of 
you  will  remember  that  I  came  into  my  title  and 
fortune  late  in  life.  My  youth  was  spent  in  com- 
parative poverty  abroad,  sometimes  practicing  my 
profession,  sometimes  living  merely  as  a  student  and 
an  experimenting  scientist.  In  my  thirtieth  year  I 
married  a  woman  of  good  family,  with  whom  I  was 
very  much  in  love,  so  much  so  that  in  order  to 
win  her  I  forged  a  letter  from  the  man  whom  she 
would  otherwise  have  married,  and  obtained  her 
consent  in  a  fit  of  indignation  at  his  supposed  in- 
fidelity. That  man,  gentleman,  was  Sir  Geoffrey 
Kynaston." 

There  was  a  subdued  murmur  of  astonishment. 
Every  one's  interest  was  suddenly  redoubled.  Sir 
Allan  proceeded,  standing  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
motionless  as  a  statue,  but  with  a  strange  look  in 
his  white  face. 

"  In  every  possible  way  I  failed  in  my  duty  as  a 


THE   NEW  TENANT  269 

husband  toward  my  wife.  She  was  light-hearted, 
fond  of  change,  gayety,  travel.  I  shut  her  up  in 
a  quiet,  old-fashioned  town  while  I  pursued  my 
studies,  and  expected  her  to  content  herself  with 
absolute  solitude.  For  years  I  crushed  the  life  out 
of  her  by  withdrawing  every  interest  and  every 
amusement  from  her  life.  We  had  one  child  only, 
a  son. 

"  From  bad,  things  grew  to  worse.  What  I  had 
dreaded  came  to  pass.  She  discovered  my  treach- 
ery. Still,  she  was  faithful  to  me,  but  we  were  hus- 
band and  wife  in  name  only. 

"  Time  passed  on,  and  she  made  a  few  friends, 
and  went  out  occasionally.  Then,  who  should  come 
by  accident  to  the  little  town  where  we  lived  but 
Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston.  I  was  madly,  insanely 
jealous,  and  I  forbade  my  wife  to  meet  him.  She 
declined  to  obey  me,  and  she  was  quite  right  to  do 
so.  At  that  time  she  was  as  faithful  to  me  as  any 
woman  could  be,  and  she  treated  my  suspicions,  as 
they  deserved  to  be  treated,  with  contempt.  Sir 
Geoffrey  and  she  met  as  friends,  and  if  it  had  not 
been  for  my  brutality  they  would  never  have  met  in 
any  other  way. 

"  One  night  there  was  a  fete  and  dance  in  our 
little  town.  My  wife  went,  against  my  orders,  and 
Sir  Geoffrey  escorted  her  home.  A  demon  of  jeal- 
ousy entered  into  my  soul  that  night.  Although  all 
the  time  I  knew  that  my  wife  was  faithful  to  me, 
the  worse  half  of  my  nature  whispered  to  me  that 
she  was  not,  and,  wretch  that  I  was,  I  stooped  to 
listen  to  it.  When  she  returned  I  was  mad  with  a 
fit  of  ungovernable  rage.  I  shut  my  doors  against 
her,  and  refused  to  allow  her  to  enter  my  house.  I 
taunted  her  with  her  infidelity.  I  bade  her  go  to  her 
lover.  She  went  to  some  friends,  and  for  two  days 


270  THE  NEW  TENANT 

she  waited  for  a  message  from  me.  I  sent  none, 
and  on  the  third  day  she  left  the  place  with  Sir 
Geoffrey  Kynaston.  In  less  than  a  month  she  was 
in  a  convent,  and  from  that  day  to  this  she  has 
lived  the  life  of  a  holy  woman." 

There  was  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice  for  the 
first  time,  and  he  paused.  The  silence  was  pro- 
found. Everyone  sat  motionless.  Everyone's  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  him.  In  a  moment  he  continued. 

"  Although  by  sheer  brutality,  by  coarse  insults 
and  undeviating  cruelty,  I  had  driven  my  wife  to 
the  edge  of  the  precipice,  my  rage  against  the  man, 
whom  I  knew  she  had  always  loved,  burned  as 
fiercely  as  though  he  had  won  her  from  me  by  the 
crudest  means.  I  followed  them  to  Vienna,  and 
insulted  him  publicly.  My  wife  left  him  on  that 
very  night,  and  he  has  never  seen  her  since ;  but  Sir 
Geoffrey  and  I  fought  on  the  sands  near  Boulogne, 
and  I  strove  my  utmost  to  kill  him.  Fortune  was 
against  me,  however,  and  I  was  wounded.  I  re- 
turned to  my  home  with  my  thirst  for  vengeance 
unabated.  I  taught  my  son  to  curse  the  name  of  Sir 
Geoffrey  Kynaston,  and  as  soon  as  I  had  recovered 
from  my  wounds  I  hunted  him  all  over  Europe. 
Where  he  spent  those  years  I  cannot  tell,  but  he 
eluded  me.  Often  I  reached  a  town  only  to  learn 
that  he  had  left  it  but  a  few  days ;  once,  I  remember, 
at  Belgrade,  I  was  only  a  few  hours  behind  him. 
But  meet  him  face  to  face  I  could  not. 

"  When  at  last  I  saw  my  son  again,  I  found  him 
grown  up,  and  in  his  first  words  he  told  me  boldly 
that  he  had  espoused  his  mother's  cause,  and  that 
he  withdrew  altogether  from  his  vow  of  vengeance 
against  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston.  I  left  him  in  a 
fury,  and  almost  immediately  afterwards  came  the 
unexpected  news  of  my  accession  to  the  baronetcy 


THE   NEW  TENANT  271 

of  Beaumerville.  I  made  up  my  mind  then  to  turn 
over  the  past  chapter  of  my  life,  and  start  the  world 
afresh.  I  had  always  been  known  by  the  family 
name  of  Martival,  and  my  wife  was  unaware  of  my 
connection  with  the  Beaumerville  family.  Taking- 
advantage  of  this,  I  sent  her  false  news  of  my  death 
at  Paris,  and  started  life  afresh  as  Sir  Allan  Beau- 
merville. 

"  The  past,  however,  soon  began  to  cast  its  shad- 
ows into  the  future.  A  new  author,  calling  himself 
Bernard  Maddison,  was  one  night  introduced  to  me 
at  a  crowded  assembly.  I  held  out  my  hand,  which 
he  did  not  take,  and  recognized  my  son." 

There  was  a  general  start.  The  first  gleam  of 
light  struggled  into  the  minds  of  the  little  group 
of  listeners.  They  began  to  see  whither  this  thing 
was  tending,  and  everyone  looked  very  grave. 

"I  had  nothing  to  fear,"  Sir  Allan  continued. 
"  My  son  showed  by  his  looks  the  contempt  in  which 
he  held  me.  We  met  frequently  after  that,  but  we 
never  exchanged  a  single  word.  He  kept  my  secret, 
too,  from  his  mother — not  for  my  sake,  but  for  her 
own. 

"  Six  months  after  our  first  meeting  Sir  Geoffrey 
Kynaston  returned  to  England.  It  may  seem 
strange  to  you,  gentlemen,  but  my  hate  for  this  man 
had  never  lessened,  never  decreased.  The  moment 
I  heard  the  news  I  began  to  lay  my  plans. 

"  Then,  for  the  first  time,  my  son  sought  me.  He 
had  come,  he  said,  to  make  one  request,  and  if  I 
granted  it,  he  would  leave  me  in  peace  forever. 
Would  I  tell  him  that  my  oath  had  been  buried 
with  the  old  life,  and  that  I  would  seek  no  harm 
to  my  old  enemy  ?  I  simply  declined  to  discuss  the 
matter  with  him,  and  he  went  away. 

"  From  that  time  he  commenced  to  watch  me.    I 


272  THE   NEW  TENANT 

laid  my  plans  deeply,  but  somehow  he  got  to  hear 
of  them.  When  I  went  down  on  a  visit  to  you, 
Lord  Lathon,  that  I  might  be  near  Sir  Geoffrey, 
he  took  a  small  cottage  in  the  neighborhood,  in- 
tending to  do  his  best  to  counteract  my  schemes. 
But  I  was  too  cunning  for  him. 

"  On  the  morning  of  Sir  Geoffrey's  murder  I  was 
on  the  cliffs,  under  the  pretence  of  botanizing. 
While  there  I  heard  the  guns  of  a  shooting  party, 
and  through  a  field-glass  I  saw  Mr.  Thurwell  and 
Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston.  At  that  time  I  scarcely 
thought  that  chance  would  bring  Sir  Geoffrey  with- 
in my  power,  but  I  made  up  my  mind  to  watch 
them. 

"  Accordingly  I  descended  from  the  cliffs,  and, 
on  my  way,  passed  close  to  my  son's  cottage.  I 
looked  in  at  his  sitting-room  through  the  open  win- 
dows, and  it  seemed  as  though  the  devil  must  have 
guided  my  eyes.  His  cabinet  was  open,  and  right 
opposite  my  eyes  was  a  pair  of  long  Turkish  dag- 
gers carelessly  thrown  down  with  a  heap  of  other 
curios.  I  listened.  There  was  no  one  about.  I 
stepped  through  the  window,  seized  one  of  them, 
and  hurried  away.  About  a  hundred  yards  from 
the  cottage  was  a  long  narrow  belt  of  plantation 
running  from  a  considerable  distance  inland  almost 
to  the  cliff  side.  Here  I  concealed  myself,  and 
looked  out  at  the  shooting  party.  I  could  see  them 
all  hurrying  across  the  moor  except  Sir  Geoffrey 
Kynaston.  While  I  was  wondering  what  had  be- 
come of  him,  I  heard  footsteps  on  the  other  side  of 
the  plantation.  I  stole  back  to  the  edge  and  looked 
out.  Coming  slowly  down  by  the  side  of  the  ditch 
was  Sir  Geoffrey,  with  his  gun  under  his  arm,  and 
whistling  softly  to  himself.  He  was  alone.  There 
was  no  one  within  sight.  Gentlemen,  it  is  an  awful 


THE  NEW  TENANT  273 

confession  which  I  am  making  to  you.  I  stole  out 
upon  him  as  he  passed,  and  stabbed  him  to  the 
heart,  so  that  he  died  without  a  groan." 

Rembrandt  might  have  found  a  worthy  study  in 
the  faces  of  the  men  seated  round  that  brilliant 
supper  table.  Blank  horror  seemed  to  hold  them 
all  speechless.  Sir  Allan,  too,  was  trembling,  and 
his  hand,  which  rested  upon  the  table,  was  as  white 
as  the  damask  cloth. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a 
waiter  entered. 

"  A  gentleman  wishes  to  speak  with  Sir  Allan 
Beaumerville,"  he  announced. 

Sir  Philip  Roden  rose  to  his  feet,  and  pointed 
to  the  door. 

"The  gentleman  must  wait,  Nillson,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Leave  the  room  now,  and  see  that  we  are 
not  interrupted  until  I  ring  the  bell." 

The  servant  bowed  and  withdrew,  after  a  won- 
dering glance  at  the  faces  of  the  little  party.  Sir 
Philip  Roden  left  his  seat  and,  crossing  the  room, 
locked  the  door. 

"  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville,"  he  said  quietly,  "  there 
can  be  only  one  course  to  take  with  regard  to  the 
painful  disclosures  which  you  have  laid  before  us 
to-night.  If  you  have  anything  to  add,  please  let 
us  hear  it  quickly." 

Sir  Allan  continued  at  once. 

"  I  went  back  to  my  son's  cottage.  I  washed  my 
hands  in  his  room,  and  the  towel  I  concealed  in  his 
cabinet.  Just  as  I  was  leaving  he  entered.  What 
passed  between  us  I  need  not  mention.  I  took  up 
my  botanizing  case  and  hurried  away  along  the 
cliffs,  and  afterward  was  met  by  Mr.  Thurwell's 
servant,  with  whom  I  returned  once  more  to  look 
upon  my  work.  Then  came  the  time  when  suspicion 


274  THE  NEW  TENANT 

commenced  to  fall  upon  my  son.  I  implored  him 
to  leave  the  country.  He  refused.  At  last  he  was 
arrested.  For  the  father  whom  he  can  only  despise 
he  has  been  willing  to  die.  To-night  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  leave  a  confession  of  my  guilt  and 
fly.  My  plans  are  changed.  Only  a  few  hours  ago 
I  looked  into  the  face  of  one  whom  I  had  never 
thought  to  see  again  in  this  world.  Her  advice  I 
am  now  following.  To  her  care  I  entrusted  my 
confession,  and  to  your  ears  I  have  detailed  it.  My 
story  is  done,  gentlemen.  Sir  Philip  Roden,  I  place 
myself  in  your  hands." 

His  last  words  had  been  almost  drowned  by  a 
clamorous  knocking  at  the  closed  door.  When  he 
had  ceased,  Sir  Philip  Roden  rose  and  opened  it. 
Two  men  entered  at  once,  followed  by  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin Levy.  The  men  recognized  Sir  Philip,  and 
saluted. 

"  What  is  your  business  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  We  hold  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Sir  Allan 
Beaumerville,  sir,"  was  the  respectful  answer, 
"  granted  on  the  sworn  information  of  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin Levy  there,  by  Mr.  Pulsford,  half  an  hour 
ago.  Which  is  he,  sir?" 

Sir  Philip  pointed  to  where  his  late  host  was 
standing  a  little  away  from  the  others,  his  hand 
resting  on  the  carved  knob  of  his  high-backed  chair, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  wildly  upon  them.  The  man  ad- 
vanced to  him  at  once. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner,  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville," 
he  said  quietly.  "  I  hold  a  warrant  here  for  your 
arrest  on  the  charge  of  having  murdered  Sir  Geof- 
frey Kynaston  on  the  I2th  of  August  of  last  year." 

Those  who  were  watching  Sir  Allan's  face  closely 
saw  only  a  slight  change.  Its  deep  pallor  grew 
only  a  shade  more  livid,  and  there  was  a  faint 


THE  NEW  TENANT  275 

twitching  of  the  features.  Then  with  an  awful  light 
flashing  into  his  burning  eyes,  and  a  cry  which 
rang  through  the  whole  building,  he  threw  up  his 
arms  and  fell  like  a  log  across  the  hearth  rug. 
Every  one  sprang  up  and  crowded  round  him,  but 
the  physician  pushed  his  way  through  the  group 
and  fell  on  his  knees.  He  was  up  again  in  a  mo- 
ment, looking  very  pale  and  awed. 

"  Keep  back,  gentlemen ;  keep  back,  please,"  he 
said  in  a  low  tone.  "  Never  mind  about  the  brandy, 
Sir  Philip.  Every  one  had  better  go  away.  These 
people  from  Scotland  Yard  need  not  wait.  Sir  Allan 
will  answer  for  his  crime  at  a  higher  court  than 
ours." 

And  so  it  indeed  was.  Tragical  justice  had  her- 
self added  the  last  and  final  scene  to  the  drama. 
Sir  Allan  Beaumerville's  lips  were  closed  for  ever 
in  this  world. 


CHAPTER   XLI 

INNOCENT 

AN  hour  or  two  before  the  denouement  of  Sir 
Allan  Beaumerville's  supper  party,  his  brougham 
had  driven  up  to  Mr.  Thurwell's  town  house,  and 
had  set  down  a  lady  there.  She  had  rung  the  bell 
and  inquired  for  Miss  Thurwell. 

The  footman  who  answered  the  door  looked 
dubious. 

"  Miss  Thurwell  was  in,  certainly,  but  she  was 
unwell  and  saw  no  visitors,  and  it  was  late.  Could 
he  take  her  name  ?  " 

The  lady  handed  him  a  note. 

"  If  you  will  take  this  to  Miss  Thurwell,  and  tell 
her  that  I  am  waiting,  I  think  that  she  will  see 
me,"  she  said  quietly. 

The  man  took  it,  and,  somewhat  impressed  by  the 
bearing  and  manner  of  speech  of  the  unknown  lady, 
he  showed  her  into  the  morning-room,  and  ringing 
for  Miss  Thurwell's  maid,  handed  her  the  note  and 
awaited  the  decision.  It  was  speedily  given.  The 
lady  was  to  be  shown  to  her  room  at  once. 

The  agonizing  suspense  in  which  Helen  had  been 
living  for  the  last  few  days  had  laid  a  heavy  hand 
upon  her.  Her  cheeks  were  thin,  and  had  been 
woefully  pale  until  the  sudden  excitement  of  this 
visit  had  called  up  a  faint  hectic  flush  which  had 
no  kindred  with  the  color  of  health.  Her  form, 
too,  seemed  to  have  shrunken,  and  the  loose  tea- 

276 


THE  NEW  TENANT  277 

gown  which  she  wore  enhanced  the  fragility  of  her 
appearance.  She  had  been  sitting  in  a  low  chair 
before  the  fire,  with  her  head  buried  in  her  hands, 
but  when  her  visitor  was  announced  she  was  stand- 
ing up  with  her  dry,  bright  eyes  eagerly  fixed  upon 
the  woman  who  stood  on  the  threshold.  The  door 
was  closed,  and  they  looked  at  one  another  for  a 
moment  in  silence. 

To  an  artist,  the  figures  of  these  two  women,  each 
so  intensely  interested  in  the  other,  and  each  pos- 
sessed of  a  distinctive  and  impressive  personality, 
would  have  been  full  of  striking  suggestions. 
Helen,  in  her  loose  gown  of  a  soft  dusky  orange 
hue,  and  with  no  harsher  light  thrown  upon  her 
features  than  the  subdued  glow  of  a  shaded  lamp, 
and  occasional  flashes  of  the  firelight  which  gleamed 
in  her  too-brilliant  eyes,  seemed  to  have  lost  none 
of  her  beauty.  All  her  surroundings,  too,  went  to 
enhance  it:  the  delicately-toned  richness  of  the  col- 
oring around,  the  faintly  perfumed  air,  the  indefin- 
able suggestion  of  feminine  daintiness,  so  apparent 
in  all  the  appointments  of  the  little  chamber.  From 
the  semi-darkness  of  her  position  near  the  door 
Helen's  visitor  brought  her  eager  scrutiny  to  an 
end.  She  advanced  a  little  into  the  room  and  spoke. 

"  You  are  Helen  Thurwell  ? "  she  said  softly. 
"  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville  has  bidden  me  come  to 
you.  You  have  read  his  note  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  have  read  it,"  she  answered  quickly. 
"  He  tells  me  that  you  have  news — news  that  con- 
cerns Bernard  Maddison.  Is  it  anything  that  will 
prove  his  innocence  ?  " 

"  It  is  already  proved." 

Helen  gave  a  great  cry  and  sank  into  a  low  chair. 
She  had  no  doubts;  her  visitor's  tone  and  manner 
forbade  them.  But  the  tension  of  her  feelings, 


278  THE  NEW  TENANT 

strung  to  such  a  pitch  of  nervousness,  gave  way  all 
at  once.  Her  whole  frame  was  shaken  with  pas- 
sionate sobs.  The  burning  agony  of  her  grief  was 
dissolved  in  melting  tears. 

And  the  woman  whose  glad  tidings  had  brought 
this  change  stood  all  the  while  patient  and  motion- 
less. Once,  when  Helen  had  first  yielded  to  her 
emotion,  she  had  made  a  sudden  movement  for- 
ward, and  a  sweet,  sympathetic  light  had  flashed 
for  a  moment  over  her  pale  features.  But  some- 
thing had  seemed  to  restrain  her,  some  chilling 
memory  which  had  checked  her  first  impulse,  and 
made  her  resume  her  former  attitude  of  quiet  re- 
serve. She  stood  there  and  waited.  By  and  by 
Helen  looked  up  and  started  to  her  feet. 

"  I  had  almost  forgotten ;  I  am  so  sorry,"  she 
said.  "  Do  sit  down,  please,  and  tell  me  every- 
thing, and  who  you  are.  You  have  brought  me 
the  best  news  I  ever  had  in  my  life,"  she  added  with 
a  little  burst  of  gratitude. 

Her  visitor  remained  standing — remained  grave, 
silent,  and  unresponsive ;  yet  there  was  nothing  for- 
bidding about  her  appearance.  Looking  into  her 
soft  gray  eyes  and  face  still  beautiful,  though  wrin- 
kled and  colorless,  Helen  was  conscious  of  a  strange 
feeling  of  attraction  toward  her,  a  sort  of  unex- 
plained affinity  which  women  in  trouble  or  distress 
often  feel  for  one  another,  but  which  the  sterner 
fiber  of  man's  nature  rarely  admits  of.  She  moved 
impulsively  forward,  and  stretched  out  her  hands 
in  mute  invitation,  but  there  was  no  response.  If 
anything,  indeed,  her  visitor  seemed  to  shrink  a 
little  away  from  her. 

"  You  ask  me  who  I  am,"  she  said  softly.  "  I 
am  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville's  wife;  I  am  Bernard 
Maddison's  mother." 


THE  NEW  TENANT  279 

Helen  sank  back  upon  her  chair,  perfectly  help- 
less. This  thing  was  too  much  for  her  to  grasp. 
She  looked  up  at  the  woman  who  had  spoken  these 
marvelous  words,  half  frightened,  altogether  be- 
wildered. 

"  You  are  Sir  Allan  Beaumerville's  wife,"  she 
repeated  slowly.  "  I  do  not  understand ;  I  never 
knew  that  he  was  married.  And  Bernard  Maddi- 
son  his  son !  " 

Helen  sat  quite  still  for  a  moment.  Then  light 
began  to  stream  in  upon  her  darkened  understand- 
ing. Suddenly  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Who  was  it  ?  then,  who  killed —  Oh,  my  God, 
I  see  it  all  now.  It  was " 

She  ceased,  and  looked  at  her  visitor  with 
blanched  cheeks.  A  low,  tremulous  cry  of  horror 
broke  from  Lady  Beaumerville's  white  lips.  Her 
calmness  seemed  gone.  She  was  trembling  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  God  help  him !  it  was  my  husband  who  killed 
Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston,"  she  cried ;  "  and  the  sin 
is  on  my  head." 

Helen  was  scarcely  less  agitated.  She  caught 
hold  of  the  edge  of  the  table  to  steady  herself.  Her 
voice  seemed  to  come  from  a  great  distance. 

"  Sir  Allan !  I  do  not  understand.  Why  did  he 
do  that  horrible  thing?" 

"  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  and  my  husband  were 
mortal  enemies,"  answered  Lady  Beaumerville,  her 
voice  scarcely  raised  above  a  whisper.  "  Mine  was 
the  fault,  mine  the  guilt.  Alas !  alas !  " 

The  stately  head  with  its  wealth  of  silvery  white 
hair  was  buried  in  her  hands.  Her  attitude,  the 
agony  which  quivered  in  her  tone  dying  away  in 
her  final  expression  of  despair  like  chords  of  wild, 
sad  music,  and  above  all  her  likeness  to  the  man 


280  THE  NEW  TENANT 

she  loved,  appealed  irresistibly  to  Helen.  A  great 
pity  filled  her  heart.  She  passed  her  arm  round 
Lady  Beaumerville,  and  drew  her  on  to  the  sofa. 

There  were  no  words  between  them  then.  Only, 
after  a  while,  Helen  asked  quietly: 

"  Sir  Allan — must  he  confess  ?  " 

"  It  is  already  done/'  her  visitor  answered.  "  To- 
morrow the  world  will  know  his  guilt  and  my 
shame.  Ah,"  she  cried,  her  voice  suddenly  chang- 
ing, "  I  had  forgotten.  Turn  your  face  away  from 
me,  Helen  Thurwell,  and  listen." 

In  the  silence  of  the  half-darkened  chamber  she 
told  her  story — told  it  in  the  low,  humbled  tone 
of  saintly  penitence,  rising  sometimes  into  passion 
and  at  others  falling  into  an  agonized  whisper. 
She  spoke  of  her  girlhood,  of  the  falsehood  by 
which  she  had  been  cheated  into  a  loveless  mar- 
riage, and  the  utter  misery  which  it  had  brought. 
Then  she  told  her  of  her  sin,  committed  in  a  mo- 
ment of  madness  after  her  husband's  brutal  treat- 
ment, and  so  soon  repented  of.  Lightly  she 
touched  upon  her  many  years  of  solitary  penance, 
her  whole  lifetime  dedicated  willingly  and  earnestly 
to  the  expiation  of  that  dark  stain,  and  of  the  com- 
ing to  her  quiet  home  of  the  awful  news  of  Sir 
Geoffrey's  murder.  In  her  old  age  her  sin  had 
risen  up  against  her,  remorseless  and  unsatiated. 
Almost  she  had  counted  herself  forgiven.  Almost 
she  had  dared  to  hope  that  she  might  die  in  peace. 
But  sin  is  everlasting,  its  punishment  eternal. 

Here  her  voice  died  away  in  a  sudden  fit  of  weak- 
ness, as  though  the  fierce  consuming  passion  of  her 
grief  had  eaten  away  all  her  strength.  But  in  a 
moment  or  two  she  continued. 

"I  thought  my  husband  dead,  and  the  sin  my 
son's,"  she  whispered.  "  They  sent  to  me  to  come 


THE  NEW  TENANT  281 

to  his  trial,  that  they  might  hear  from  my  lips  what 
they  thought  evidence  against  him.  I  would  have 
died  first.  Then  came  a  young  man  who  told  me 
all,  and  I  came  with  him  to  England.  I  have  seen 
and  spoken  with  my  husband.  On  his  table  he 
showed  me  signed  papers.  His  confession  was 
ready.  'This  night/  he  said,  '  I  take  my  leave  of 
the  world.'  Thank  God,  he  forgave  me,  and  I  him. 
We  have  stood  hand-in-hand  together,  and  the  past 
between  us  is  no  more.  He  bade  me  come  here, 
and  I  have  come.  I  have  seen  the  woman  my  son 
loves,  and  I  am  satisfied.  Now  I  will  go." 

Her  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  upon  Helen,  full 
of  an  inexpressible  yearning,  and  there  had  been  a 
faint,  sad  wistfulness  in  her  tone.  But  when  she 
had  finished,  she  drew  her  cloak  around  her,  and 
turned  toward  the  door. 

Helen  let  her  take  a  few  steps,  scarcely  conscious 
of  her  intention.  Then  she  sprang  up,  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  Lady  Beaumerville's  shoulder. 

"  You  are  his  mother,"  she  said  softly.  "  May  I 
not  be  your  daughter  ?  " 

"  Helen,  Helen,  I  have  strange  news  for  you !  " 

The  room  was  in  semi-darkness,  for  the  fire  had 
burnt  low  and  the  heavily  shaded  lamp  gave  out 
but  little  light.  Side  by  side  on  the  low  sofa,  two 
women,  hand-in-hand,  had  been  sobbing  out  their 
grief  to  one  another.  On  the  threshold,  peering 
with  strained  eyes  through  the  gloom,  was  Mr. 
Thurwell,  his  light  overcoat,  hastily  thrown  over 
his  evening  clothes,  still  unremoved. 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  he  saw  the  dim  outline 
of  her  graceful  figure,  even  a  vision  of  her  white, 
tear-stained  face. 

"  The   truth   has  come   out,"   he  said   gravely. 


282  THE  NEW  TENANT 

"  To-morrow  Bernard  will  be  free.  The  man  who 
killed  Sir  Geoffrey  Kynaston  has  confessed." 

"Confessed!"  Helen  repeated.  "Where?  To 
whom  ?  " 

"  To  the  Home  Secretary,  to  a  party  of  us  as  we 
sat  at  supper,  his  guests  at  the  club.  Helen,  be 
prepared  for  a  great  surprise.  The  murderer  was 
Sir  Allan  Beaumerville." 

"  I  know  it/'  Helen  whispered  hoarsely  across 
the  room.  "  Have  they  arrested  Sir  Allan  ?  " 

Mr.  Thurwell's  surprise  at  his  daughter's  knowl- 
edge was  forgotten  in  the  horror  of  the  scene  which 
her  words  had  called  up.  Across  the  darkened  air 
of  the  little  chamber  it  seemed  to  float  again  before 
his  shuddering  memory,  and  he  stretched  out  his 
hands  for  a  moment  before  his  face. 

"  Arrested  him — no !  "  he  answered  in  an  agitated 
tone.  "  I  have  seen  nothing  so  awful  in  all  my  life. 
He  made  his  confession  at  the  head  of  his  table,  the 
police  were  clamoring  outside  with  a  warrant,  and 
while  we  all  sat  dazed  and  stupefied,  he  fell  back- 
ward— dead." 

A  cry  rang  through  the  little  chamber,  a  sudden 
wail,  half  of  relief,  half  of  anguish.  Helen  fell 
upon  her  knees  by  the  side  of  the  sofa.  Mr.  Thur- 
well  started,  and  moved  forward. 

"  Who  is  that?  "  he  asked  quickly.  "  I  thought 
you  were  alone." 

"  It  is  his  wife,"  Helen  answered,  not  without 
some  fear.  "  See^  she  has  fainted." 

Mr.  Thurwell  hesitated  only  for  a  moment. 
Then  his  face  filled  with  compassion. 

"  God  help  her ;  "  he  said  solemnly.  "  I  will 
send  the  women  up  to  you,  and  a  doctor.  God  help 
her!" 


CHAPTER    XLII 

AT   LAST 

THE  morning  sunlight  lay  upon  that  wonderful 
fair  garden  of  the  villa.  The  tall  white  lilies,  the 
scarlet  poppies,  the  clustering  japonica,  the  purple 
hyacinths,  and  the  untrimmed  brilliantly-flowering 
shrubs,  lilted  their  heads  before  its  sweet,  quicken- 
ing warmth,  and  yielded  up  their  perfume  to  the 
still  clear  air.  The  languorous  hour  of  noon  was 
still  far  off.  It  was  the  birth  of  a  southern  summer 
day,  and  everything  was  fresh  and  pure,  untainted 
by  the  burning,  enervating  heat  which  was  soon  to 
dry  up  the  sweetness  from  the  earth,  and  the  fresh- 
ness from  the  slightly  moving  breeze.  Away  on 
the  brown  hills,  fading  into  a  transparent  veil  of 
blue,  the  bright  dresses  of  the  peasant  women  stoop- 
ing at  their  toil,  the  purple  glory  of  the  vineyards, 
and  the  deep,  quiet  green  of  the  olive  groves — all 
these  simple  characteristics  of  the  pastoral  landscape 
were  like  brilliant  patches  of  coloring  upon  a  fit- 
ting background.  Soon  the  haze  of  the  noonday 
heat  would  hang  upon  the  earth,  deadening  the  pur- 
ity of  its  color,  and  making  the  air  heavy  and 
oppressive  with  faint  overladen  perfumes.  But  as 
yet  the  sun  lay  low  in  the  heavens,  and  the  earth 
beneath  was  like  a  fair  still  picture. 

The  heavy  lumbering  coach  which  connected  the 
little  town  with  the  outside  world  was  drawn  up  at 
the  gate  of  the  villa,  and  twice  the  quaintly  sound- 

283 


284  THE  NEW  TENANT 

ing  horn  had  broken  the  morning  stillness.  It  was 
a  moment  of  farewell,  a  farewell  not  for  days  or  for 
years,  but  forever. 

Their  words  denied  it,  yet  in  their  hearts  was 
that  certain  conviction,  and  much  of  that  peculiar 
sadness  which  it  could  not  fail  to  bring.  Yet  she 
would  not  have  them  stay  for  the  end.  She  had 
bidden  them  go,  and  the  hour  had  come. 

Too  weak  to  walk,  or  even  sit  upright,  they  had 
laid  her  upon  a  sofa  in  front  of  the  open  windows, 
through  which  the  perfume  from  the  garden  below 
stole  sweetly  in  on  the  bosom  of  the  slowly  stirring 
south  wind.  On  one  side  of  her  stood  a  tall  mild- 
faced  priest  from  the  brotherhood  who  had  made 
their  home  in  the  valley  below,  on  the  other  were 
Bernard  and  his  wife,  her  son  and  daughter. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  she  was  dying,  that  she 
was  indeed  very  near  death.  Yet  she  was  sending 
them  away  from  her.  The  brief  while  they  three 
had  lived  there  together  had  been  like  a  late  autumn 
to  her  life,  which  had  blossomed  forth  with  sweet 
moments  of  happiness  such  as  she  had  never 
dreamed  of.  And  now  her  summons  had  come, 
and  she  was  ready.  In  her  last  moments  she  must 
return  once  more  to  that  absolute  detachment  from 
all  save  spiritual  things  in  which  for  many  years 
she  had  lived,  a  saintly,  blessed  woman.  So  she 
had  bidden  them  go,  even  her  son,  even  that  fair 
sweet  English  girl  who  had  been  more  than  a 
daughter  to  her.  She  had  bidden  them  go.  The 
last  words  had  been  spoken,  for  the  last  time  her 
trembling  lips  had  been  pressed  to  her  son's.  Yet 
they  lingered. 

And  there  came  of  a  sudden,  floating  through 
the  window,  the  sweet  slow  chiming  of  the  matins 
bell  from  the  monastery  below.  Almost  it  seemed 


THE  NEW  TENANT  285 

as  though  the  soft  delicate  air  through  which  it 
passed,  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  sloping  landscape 
and  old  garden  over  which  it  traveled,  had  had  a 
rarefying  influence  upon  the  sound  itself,  and  had 
mellowed  its  tones  into  a  strain  of  the  most  perfect 
music  throbbing  with  harmony  and  dying  away  in 
faint,  delicious  murmurs.  They  stood  and  listened 
to  it,  and  a  sudden  light  swept  into  the  pale  face 
upon  the  couch.  They  all  looked  at  her  in  a  sudden 
awe.  The  priest  sank  upon  his  knees  by  her  side, 
and  prayed.  Long  desired,  it  had  come  at  last  at 
this  most  fitting  moment.  The  glory  of  death  shone 
in  her  face,  and  the  light  of  a  coming  release  flashed 
across  her  features.  She  died  as  few  can  die,  as 
one  who  sees  descending  from  the  clouds  a  long- 
promised  happiness,  and  whose  heart  and  soul  go 
forth  to  meet  it  with  joy. 

They  stayed  and  buried  her  under  a  cypress  tree, 
in  a  sunny  corner  of  the  monastery  churchyard, 
where  a  plain  black  cross  marked  her  grave.  Then 
they  turned  their  faces  toward  England. 

And  in  England  they  were  happy.  For  the  first 
few  years  they  chose  to  live  almost  in  retirement  at 
their  stately  home,  for  with  no  desire  for  notoriety, 
Sir  Bernard  Beaumerville  found  himself  on  his 
return  from  abroad  the  most  famous  man  in 
London.  To  escape  from  the  lionizing  that  threat- 
ened him,  Helen  and  he  shut  themselves  up  at 
Beaumerville  Court,  and  steadfastly  refused  all  in- 
vitations. Of  their  life  there  little  need  be  said, 
save  that  to  each  it  was  the  perfect  realization  of 
dreams  which  had  once  seemed  too  sweet  to  be 
possible. 

And  in  the  midst  of  it  all  he  found  time  to  write. 
From  the  quaint  oak  library,  where  he  had  gone 


286  THE   NEW   TENANT 

back  into  the  old  realms  of  thoughtland,  he  sent 
out  into  the  world  a  great  work.  Once  more  the 
columns  of  the  daily  papers  and  the  reviews  were 
busy  with  his  name,  and  for  once  all  were  unani- 
mous. All  bowed  down  before  his  genius,  and  his 
name  was  written  into  the  history  of  his  generation. 
Through  a  burning  sea  of  trouble,  of  intellectual 
disquiet  and  mental  agony,  he  had  emerged 
strengthened  at  every  point.  Love  had  fulfilled 
upon  him  its  great  office.  He  was  humanized. 
The  impersonality,  which  is  the  student's  bane, 
which  deepens  into  misanthropy,  cynicism,  and 
pessimism,  yielded  before  it.  The  voices  of  his  own 
children  became  dearer  to  him  than  the  written 
thoughts  of  dead  men.  It  was  the  reassertion  of 
nature,  and  it  was  well  for  him.  So  was  he  saved, 
so  was  his  genius  unfettered  from  the  cloying 
weight  of  too  much  abstract  thought,  which  at  one 
time,  save  for  his  artistic  instincts,  would  have 
plunged  him  into  the  morass  of  pedantry  and  turned 
his  genius  into  a  pillar  of  salt.  A  woman  had  saved 
him,  and  through  the  long  years  of  their  life  to- 
gether he  never  forgot  it. 


THE   END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    000135480     2 


